Populous: The Rebirth
by Celuth
Summary: Populous: The Beginning Fan Fiction - As the peace that had been blessed on them is shattered around them, the tribe find themselves thrown back into a violent four-way war, horrified to find it's not about old scars and bruised egos as the stakes are raised almost as high as the cost.
1. Section 1 Prologue

((Author's Note: Just so you know and don't get disappointed, I've had to change a few aspects of the game to make this into a workable story so apologies if there are changes to the canon or additions that you don't like! Also I'm very nervous about showing my writing but I would love to improve. As such, any and all comments about the story are both asked for and welcomed. Also, this story was starting as I had just started to get back into writing and as I result I feel the start is relatively weak but gets better as I get more back into the swing of writing, so please persevere with me getting my feet back. Thank you for reading!))

**Populous: The Rebirth**

**Part 1**

**Section 1: The Ending**

**Prologue **

People believe I have crossed the line. That I have no morals and no empathy. They know nothing. They are naught but children compared to me; how could they understand? I smirk, running my eye over them, assembled together with worried faces. And yet they are hopeful. They want this as much - if not more - than I do. They just won't be the ones to instigate it. Too long we have sat and watched. Too long there has been no hand of influence as all these cowards refuse to intervene. They don't understand how those stupid, fearful insects work. They will understand. I will _make _them understand.

I look over those in front of me, stood in a row on the precious marble floor. Those who have forgotten what it is to be what we are and lost their worth to stand before me in this glory. Morals? Empathy? They speak as though these creatures have merit, as though there have some form of sentience. No, they are animals. Nothing more. With the desire for power and the desire to win. They want to win. And you know what? Someone will.

The assembled cower under my gaze as I pace before them, the echo of my boots making them quiver like rodents; the crowd hasn't seen this look, this hunger in my eyes for a very long time. And they want it. Too impotent to make it happen for themselves, they turn to me, the grand organiser. I feel it, the strength and power I possess as I stand before them against the glittering backdrop of the stars, barely lighting the pitch black sky. They are not worth to gaze upon me.

This has been stagnant too long. It is time for some intervention. I feel the need bubbling up within me. These creatures live to entertain us and they are failing their purpose. So inadequate. So weak. They sicken me to my core, their very existence offends me. To think, I used to be so like them. No more. Give me my winner, give me my reward.

It is time to put some fire back into the hearts of maggots, kick start the grand opera again. I want blood. I want carnage. I want to see their kind ripped apart before my very eyes! Entertain me, flies, entertain me! Dance and amuse us, it's what you're for. Come again, one and all, take your precious part to play. You all have it, try and win, try and impress me. Give me chaos, show me your lust.

Come try your hand at The Game.


	2. Section 1 Chapter 1

**Section 1: The Ending**

**Chapter 1 - An End to it All**

The sun rose that day like any other. Dawn broke slowly over the peaceful hillside, spilling streams of gold over the lush and fertile landscape. A quiet rustling broke the silence as the light poured in through the crooked, wood framed window. He could feel it on his face, even this early. It was going to be a hot day. Swinging his legs out of bed, he rubbed his eyes tiredly before glancing around his dingy hut. He always had been a night owl and so mornings were never a good experience.

There was little in the hut aside from the bed he now sat on and a pile of clothes in the far corner. The floor was made of uneven wood planks with enough grass poking up through them to say he had a lawn. There was a single window, beneath which a sheathed sword leaned against the flimsy wall. The light shining through his 'door', a hanging sheet of fading blue cloth, caused a hue to be cast over the room adding to the dimness.

He scooped up a pair of trousers that had been carelessly discarded on the floor, pulled them on whilst making a feeble attempt at keeping his balance. He then proceeded though the hanging cloth door as he tucked a blue bandana into his waistband, hissing slightly as the bright light hit him full in the face. A few meters in front of him was a small lake, the waters of which looked like a mirror as the sun glistened across the surface. To one side was the start of a huge stretch of forest and a sharp rise in the landscape and to the other the village could be seen, people already darting around busily.

He wandered slowly, bare foot and bare chest to the water's edge and knelt down splashing his face in the crisp water. As it settled again he peered down at his face. He was young, with dark olive skin and midnight black hair (two traits common to all their race of people) reaching a few inches long, enough to fall messily about his face hiding his unusual blue eyes. He narrowed them slightly in annoyance; they were just one more way to stand out. A bright azure blue as opposed to the dark, almost black appearing eyes of the rest of the tribes people.

He shook his hair about once with his hand then nodded, as though that was good enough, and pulled the bandana from his waistband, tying it over his face, covering his nose, mouth and neck, hiding his slim features and just allowing his sharp cheek bones to peek out over his mask. He walked back and leaned through the window of his rickety wooden shack briefly to pick up his relatively long sword, sheathed in a dusky looking old scabbard. Slinging it over his back, he sauntered in his slow ambling fashion toward the village.

* * *

The Chieftain stood there rubbing his temple with one hand, eyes closed tightly. Before him stood a man in grand, almost over the top robes and a matching tall hat. All with rich blue trim, the colour of the tribe. Quite tall, the man could almost look the Chieftain in the face. But not quite. His gaunt face was fierce, his arms flailing in over exaggerated movements.

"Delan, look-"

"That is High Priest Delan to you, _Chieftain_." The priest spat as retort. The Chieftain sighed. He hadn't had any issue with the other two High Priests, but perhaps it was simply true that there was always one. The Chieftain glared at Delan with his unusual blue eyes. Unlike the man before him, the Chieftain stood with an impressively solid stance, his beast-like shoulders draped with the skins of animals. His legs were clad with high quality leather trousers, held up by a belt adorned in a wide variety of hunting daggers. His heavy boots still had the blood of his latest kill spattered over them. A remarkably large two handed sword was strapped to his back, the sheath and handle delicately detailed with golden filigree. His dark shoulder length hair hid the full extent of his massive square jaw.

"I still do not understand why this is bothering you so much. It has nothing to do with you, or any of the priesthood for that matter," he answered, putting deliberate care into each word. He had a powerfully deep and rumbling voice, a stark contrast to the priest's shrill wail. He watched as Delan's weasel-like features twisted with anger. _Here it comes_, he thought. _Again_.

He phased out slightly throughout the enraged priest's rantings about how 'everything was his business' to think about the more important matters that he had to deal with that day. Finally Delan was stopped mid spiel as someone approached. He purposefully turned away from him to greet the new comer, making sure his body language was blatant and dismissive enough to annoy the priest further, his own expression of irritated disinterest immediately falling away. The Chieftain smiled as a matching pair of blue eyes met his.

"Morning son, looking surprisingly alive for this early." He folded his tree trunk like arms loosely over his own bare torso as he addressed his youngest, his chest swelling authoritatively as he peered down at the diminutive young man. The son nodded once. "Nice of you to join us, Delan was just giving me some wonderfully constructive advice as to the running of the tribe." The son nodded once more, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced at the now fuming priest. The Chieftain grinned broadly at the young man, who knew full well his father's constant failure to remember Delan's title was deliberate.

"Ah, of course. The mute child of our illustrious Chieftain," said Delan venomously, eyeing the blue bandana covering the son's face but not addressing him directly. "How very like you, can't even bear a son correctly, if you can even call that runt a son." He swiftly turned and walked briskly away from the two, fairly sure but not certain that the Chieftain was not stupid enough to attack him. His attempt at a nonchalant exit was poor but he had wisely decided not to risk any pace other than fleeing.

"Have I ever told you, Agar, that every night before I go to sleep I pray for a reason to gut that man?" Agar nodded, rolling his eyes slightly. _Fantastic start to the day, wonderful boost to my outstanding self-respect and now my father is going to be in a mood all day_, Agar thought. _One day he's gonna get pushed too far. Still I can't decide if that's a bad thing or not. _"I know what you're thinking, boy." The booming voice of the Chieftain broke his chain of thought."Every decision I've made has been made for a good reason. Someday they'll know how much they owe you." The Chieftain stated as he turned his gaze to look Agar in the eyes again. Agar stared his father right in the eye, raising a brow. This wasn't like him, what was he talking about? _They owe me? Owe me what? _The Chieftain saw the concern in Agar's eyes and smiled. "All in time, boy, all in time. Come, we have things to do.

* * *

Delan's tall and lanky frame burst into the quiet temple, grinning smugly to himself now that he was a safe distance. He took far too much pleasure in tormenting the Chieftain as that oaf could do nothing about it. He strode confidently down the central aisle of the temple, paying no heed to the people worshipping in the dim, cavernous room. This was his domain. As he reached the end of the main hall, he turned off to the left, passing through a hanging cloth door into an even darker room where a man and a woman sat quietly meditating. They both wore the same robes as Delan, sat cross legged on cushions in the gloom. Delan cleared his throat loudly. Neither moved. He tried again, further exaggerating it, the annoyance in his face rising. Again, they remained as they were.

"Oi!" He shouted, making those out with the sanctum raise their heads. The man opened his eyes, smiling gently. The woman did not move, her eyes remained closed and her thoughts far away.

"Delan, dear Delan, come in, come in," whispered the man warmly, a sweet smile upon his old, weathered face.

"Don't dare think I need to be invited into the _High Priests' Sanctum_!" Delan snapped, before realising who he was talking to and visibly attempting to calm himself. "Brother, forgive me. That bumbling Chieftain has been giving me a head ache this morning and I am slightly riled by it." The elder smiled, albeit slightly forced. He was never keen of raised voices, especially here and even in apology Delan always spoke loudly.

"Think of it no more, brother." whispered the elder. "Come, sit. Our sister is deep within a vision. The spirits are restless. The Gods are rumbling."

Delan took a seat in the small, dark room. It was lit by a single candle in the centre and luxurious blue pillows provided seating, one for each of the three High Priests. Aside from that the only things in the circular room were a row of thick, old books flush against the wall. The sanctum was separated from the main temple chamber by a heavy sheet of blue silk.

Delan sat upon his pillow, his face had become somewhat apprehensive. Messages from the Gods were not something he looked forward to. He liked the free reign of non-contact that had been 'blessed' upon them for generations now. If the Gods were not in touch, he was in charge, or so he felt (traditionally, tribes were ruled by clergy and religion). This was of course one of the main reasons the Chieftain and Delan hated each other so. Delan was not one of the spirits; his rise through the ranks was dubious to say the least. He believed that the clergy should be in absolute control. That he should be in control. It was something he cared about far more than the religion he represented.

The visions didn't worry him especially though. The High Priestess had many 'visions' where the Gods 'rumbled' but nothing had come about of it. Nor would anything. The Gods had abandoned their tribe hundreds of years ago and no priest had heard anything since. Until she showed up. She had gotten worse recently. Her ridiculous claims had started becoming closer and closer together. _Surely a cry for attention_, thought Delan. _Nothing more. She must be lying. The Gods will not return to us._

* * *

The Chieftain nodded down into the valley beyond. Far in the distance, men were guarding. Agar looked down to where his father indicated. A long deep valley led off to what was known as The Centre of the World, the valley walls were high and lined with dense forest but from this vantage point one could see past the woods and right to the edge of their peninsula. This was the first time in a long time one of the other tribes had ventured this close. Worrying news. They were often heard warring with each other, the sounds of battle and the elements carried for miles. The Gods had not abandoned the other tribes.

"I don't know if this means our time of peace is finally at an end but I don't like it. Or trust them. Every day I feel the old days coming closer. Hopefully your little accident shall pay off." Agar looked at his father, his brow furrowed showing his confusion. "Worry not, my son. With any luck they will extend no more and our peace will continue on." The Chieftain remained silent for some time, staring down at the other tribe's guard. Agar could just make out the colour of cloth hanging from their trousers. Red. The Dakini. "Go find your brothers, Agar. I want you to practice combat a little." Agar once again looked at the Chieftain, his eyes slightly wide. "Just in case, son. Just in case."

He watched Agar begin walking down the other side of the hill, not taking long to break out into a run, clearly grasping the potential urgency of the situation. He was much smaller than all of his brothers. Shorter and slimmer. They, like most of the tribesmen, were all large and muscular, as though they could pull up trees with just their arms. Agar was not. Thin and lithe, though often mocked by his brothers he could more than hold his own in a fight against them due to his speed. He moved like lightening in combat. Not that the tribe had seen anything but practice combat and brawls in a long time. _They need to be ready,_ he thought. _We have no real army to fight, damn the ancestors and their pledge of peace! It works wonders when the world still cowers but this... this..._

The tribe had been pledged to peace for centuries. One of the last additions to the Holy Book was that persons of war were no longer of need. A time of great peace was to befall our people and we shall live in harmony with one another, and the three tribes of evil shall stay away and bother our brave people no more. An end to the time of peace was not mentioned. How it came about was spoken of in only one place, where no ordinary tribes person may look. There were Holy Books, oh yes, that spoke greatly of our past and the Holy laws of our people. However, there was another book, the Sacred Book that only Her eyes may gaze upon. The Shaman. Every tribe has a shaman. Except us. Ever since the time of peace began, our tribe has had no shaman. It is said that this is so not because the Gods were abandoning us, no, but because with peace and bountiful lands blessed upon us we had no need of a shaman. And so for centuries the tribe has had no shaman and with no one to read the Sacred Book, many of the details had been long forgotten. Such as how so many, many years of peace were blessed upon us or how this time of peace would end.

* * *

High Priestess Lithina opened her eyes slowly and peered dreamily around the dim sanctum. She smiled weakly to the other two High Priests. _Why is he here? _She thought as her eyes lingered slightly longer on Delan. _Please Gods, send us a way to be rid of this man. _She was young and slight, very young for a High Priest, and her long hair tied neatly in a bun on top of her head.

"Lithina, dear sister. Were the Gods any more clear?" whispered the gentle elder priest. He extended a bowl of water to her which she gladly accepted and drank of. The vision always made her so tired and thirsty, so drained.

"Come on, girl, drink after, tell us what we need to know." barked Delan. She took another long, deliberate drink before carefully placing the bowl on the ground in front of her. She began to speak, ensuring her gaze was with the kindly old priest, sparing no attention to Delan. She knew how he hated that, a subtle bruise on his ego.

"They make no more sense. They only get louder." Delan scoffed and got to his feet immediately, leaving the room without a word. He'd heard what he wanted. His authority was safe and she still seemed as an attention seeker. Just as he wanted.

"Please continue."

"Of course, brother Greyst." she said in hushed tones, smiling now, happy to see the back of Delan. Her young face was filled with curiosity with a hint of fatigue. "They remain only confused ramblings, but when I first heard them they were whispers. For years, whisper, whisper, whisper. And then six months ago, they got louder." Greyst nodded keenly; he'd be following the progression of her visions with great hopes. "And as you know, last month they were up to a full speaking voice. So strange, so strange."

"And last week they were shouting." Greyst whispered. Lithina nodded.

"And this time, they were screaming." She began to visibly shake. "I couldn't let him know how bad it had gotten. He is too concerned with himself and-"

"He would not have believed you anyway." said Greyst calmly. "It appears something is coming. And soon. We must find Delan and inform the Chieftain, he won't care but I can't be bothered with the fuss he'll kick up if we tell the Chieftain without him. I'll go after our dear 'brother', if you would be so kind as to find Remtor."

"Of course, of course." she nodded, taking another drink to settle herself. "I will see you at the Eastern border of our lands." He looked at her curiously. "I... I don't know why. But we must meet there." He leaned in fascinated, eyes filled with excitement.

"Did the Gods tell you this in the vision?"

"No. I don't think so." Her voice was unsteady and uncertain."I just have this... feeling. Ugh, I don't know. I just think we should go there. The old track that leads away to the Centre of the World. We must meet there. Soon."

"Then let us go, dear sister." He tried to keep a look of restrain upon his face but was smiling widely. _Finally_, he thought. _The Gods, they call to us! They speak again! Oh happy days of light lie ahead!_

* * *

It was no surprise to High Priest Greyst that Lithina and Chieftain Remtor were first to the rendezvous. Traditionally the tribes never had a Chieftain, they were run solely by the shaman. However, when the time of peace came upon the tribe it is said that the last shaman had placed a blessing upon one man, a wise and brave man who was chosen to lead the tribe as she passed away. The bloodline was blessed and they would be forever chosen to lead the tribe. Told apart from the others, those of the blessed blood's eyes shone blue, the great colour of the tribe. Remtor was one of the few who never forgot this connection to the Gods and so was deadly serious when it came to matters such as this. He listened to the words of Lithina and Greyst as though they were Chieftain instead of him.

Delan on the other hand had to be pretty much dragged. Refusing to believe the visions were anything but attention seeking and nonsense, he was far more concerned with his own selfish errands than fulfilling his duty. When Greyst finally got him to the others they were not interested. They stood at the top of the path, staring silently into the valley. Their faces were cold and serious.

"Well?" Delan demanded. "What inane prattling do you have for us?"

But none of them were listening to him. Greyst had seen it and his face had gone almost white. All joy and optimism had drained from him.

"Thank the Gods for warning us," he whispered quietly and without enthusiasm. Remtor sighed sadly.

"Unfortunately at this notice I don't think there's a damned thing we can do about it." he said solemnly. Walking up the valley, emerging from the forest, an army came. "They are slow. They know we are no threat."

"You think they wish to talk?" asked Lithina.

"Perhaps, High Priestess. I see no reason the Gods would warn us of a battle we cannot win. Perhaps they were warning up to accept a proposition?" His face was dark. Surrender was not in his nature. Greyst looked to his side. The five sons of the Chieftain were there, watching silently. People began to emerge from the buildings that were just behind them. He could hear a woman weeping. One brave villager came forward slightly, ready to ask the Chieftain something.

"Fetch anyone who can hunt or brawl," Remtor said before he could speak. "Anyone."

"Yes, Chieftain!" replied the man, who was relieved to not have to ask. They were close. The Chieftain could hear people breathing around him it was so quiet. And slowly the sound of pounding feet grew, the clatter of weapons, shields, the occasionally laughter of soldiers. _Laughing,_ Remtor thought. The army were so at ease and without fear and that enraged the Chieftain even more. As the sound of the encroaching army grew, so did the tension. People shifting in fear. Remtor tore his glance away from the army for the first time to look at Delan. He was gray in colour, eyes wide, clearly trying to swallow but unable. At least he could take some small solace in that. The army was right in front of them now, maybe twenty metres from the end of the track.

And suddenly, they stopped.

One man, smiling in such a friendly manner came forward. He was not a soldier. It was obvious from the robes he wore that he was a priest. Trimmed with bright crimson red.

"Greetings friends of the Iztek!" He exclaimed loudly, his smile still strong, overly pleasant. The Chieftain was smiling too. It was an easy smile to mistake for genuine compassion but there was something else there. A bright and wide grin, laced with malice. And those who truly knew the Chieftain knew that no matter what played out here, that man would not live to tell the tale. Even after all these years of peace, there was something about him, about that whole bloodline. They were warriors. It was who they were. The men with the blue eyes.

"Dakini priest!" The Chieftain exclaimed brightly. "What brings you to our village this day?" He took a few steps forward, drawing himself out of the crowd.

"Ah, my good villager I come with a great offer you cannot refuse." The Chieftain's jaw visibly stiffened as he was referred to as 'villager', but the dark smile stayed.

"Go on. I'd hate to keep you here any longer than necessary." The Dakini's eyes narrowed slightly but the smile stayed strong, working hard to keep up his façade of kindness.

"You are all so lucky," He said, arms waving extravagantly and talking to the whole assembled Iztek tribe, not the Chieftain directly. The annoyance rose into his chest. "Our mighty and all powerful Shaman invites you all to serve her as gatherers and workers for the Dakini!"

The Chieftain tilted his head slightly; his mouth opened and closed a few times. His brow was furrowed tightly as though he was desperately trying to figure something out.

"So what you're saying is that you _aren't_ here to make war on us? To annihilate us?"Asked the Chieftain in disbelief, laced in an almost hopeful edge that the foolish messenger took to be genuine. The Dakini priest nodded enthusiastically. "You are instead here to make us into _slaves_? What was once the greatest and most feared tribe of all!" shouted the Chieftain furiously; the sword strapped to his back was suddenly in his hand and pointed directly at the priest in red, in one fluid and unseen motion the blade pointed fierce and unwavering. The tribe behind him roared once with pride before descending back into silence. The Dakini priest withdrew slightly. He knew the stories of the past.

"Listen oaf, what are you doing?!" Delan whispered frantically to the Chieftain. "You said yourself; the Gods were warning us to say yes!" His face was wrought with terror.

"I thought you didn't believe in my visions?" said Lithina boldly. The tribe gasped slightly. They had not heard of these visions. Delan had forbidden it. "They warned us of this coming, yes." The Chieftain looked back at her, stared her dead in the eye. They thought the same thing. He nodded. She cleared her throat. "Our tribe was great, strong and feared! The Gods know who we are! We were blessed because of this! The Gods gave me visions to remind us who we ARE!"

"You were feared in the past, false priestess," spat the Dakini priest, his guise failing him. "But where are you now?! Where is your shaman? You have five warriors here! I come with an army!"

"Is that a threat, _friend_?" asked the Chieftain coyly, his sword still poised and ready, a sneer upon his face.

"He who does not stand with our TRUE shaman stands against her! And the infidels must be slain!" He shouted, the army behind him all drew their blades simultaneously. "Submit, or be cast to the Underworld!" The Chieftain began to laugh. All those hundreds of years ago the Iztek tribe were known for being both fearless warriors and a terrifying opponent. After all those hundreds of years the other tribes thought they would grow soft. It was true; they had no warriors, no training, no arms. But somehow, each and every Iztek man and woman had the heart of a warrior. It passed down even through the peace, written into their very flesh. Remtor would never show weakness, no matter the odds. It was who he was. The Dakini priest was slightly taken aback, unsure of what to make of the mad laughing man. "We will kill ALL your villagers. ALL your people. You will be obliterated!"

From behind him the Chieftain could hear muttering, gasping, talking. He gave a half turn so that he could get a glimpse of what was happening. The villagers behind him were parting. He frowned slightly, confused, but tried to keep the uncertainty from his face. _What are they up to? _And finally the divide reached the end of the crowd, the people parted, as though pushed away from some unseen force moving between them.

After a moment a small woman walked out through the crowd, shoulders high but head down, staring directly at the ground. Long dark hair fell about her face, curtaining her features from view. She walked forward briskly, toward the Dakini fearlessly with no hesitation. Obviously young, her frame was slim and frail with nothing but a short peasant dress covering her. Both her hands and bare feet were rough and dusty, giving the suggestion that she was nothing more than a field worker. She stopped level with the Chieftain so suddenly it looked unnatural, as though she had just been frozen on the spot. The next part happened so quickly that no one really saw what happened. No one but the Chieftain.

He was watching her as though it was in slow motion. Her arm rose up slowly, so slowly, to point at the Dakini priest with a fist. She moved as though rigid. Her arm was straight and her body stiffened, almost bracing herself. Slowly, so slowly, he watched her fingers unfurl out the way, extending toward the priest. As her fingers unravelled tortuously slowly the centre of her palm ignited, and in a creeping wave the flame covered her hand. By the time her fingers were almost straight a large ball of orange flame had formed, writhing furiously in her hand. The Chieftain tried to gasp but couldn't. He tried to speak but couldn't. He tried to think but couldn't. Finally her fingers extended fully and the ball was launched, hurtling toward the priest adorned in red. Remtor watched it slowly soar through the air, a terrible trail blazing behind it, right to the chest of this man who would make them slaves.

Finally Remtor could respond. His face contorted into a manic grin. The priest's face was merely stunned, disbelieving of what was happening. That disbelief lasted only a brief moment. He didn't even have time to fear. The ball of fire collided with his chest picking him up from his feet and throwing him through the air as though he were nothing. The Chieftain heard him land somewhere behind the small Dakini army. His grin still stood. They send a _tiny_ army to defeat us _without their shaman _because they know they could. Because we were weak. We were peasants. Forsaken. The insult. But now...

There were a few brief seconds where no one knew what had just happened. A silence fell over the scene. The first to respond were High Priestess Lithina and Remtor the Chieftain. In unison they dropped to their knees before the girl who still stared at the ground, face still hidden and body rigid. It took only two seconds for the rest of the tribe followed suit, each dropping to their knees (with the exception of Delan, who was dragged down by Greyst, he had just been standing there, mouth open in disbelief) almost like a wave.

The Dakini stood like statues. The smell of their leader's burning corpse thick in the air left them unsure of their next course of action. Finally the second in command snapped out of his shock. As he began shouting for the men to attack the girl had already taken a few fearless steps forward. The Dakini began rushing at the Iztek tribe, who remained on their knees. The girl raised her arms to the sky and instantly the clouds grew dark. A low rumble could be heard in the distance quickly followed by a quiet hiss that was just audible over the roar of the charging army. The Chieftain jumped to his feet and shouted of the tribes people to back off into the village, instinct kicking in. He didn't know what was happening but it couldn't be safe. Everyone ran from the scene a few hundred yards before the masses stopped suddenly, turning back. Turning back to see where the screams where coming from.

The girl was still stood there with her back to the village, arms high above her head, face to the clouds. Fire rained down from the sky. Where the army of red-clad soldiers once stood was now under bombardment. They fled, screaming, flailing their arms as heavy hunks of flaming rock pelted the ground. Some in pieces, others on fire. None unscathed. The fire rain was contained above them, a tight area of destruction and chaos. Some of the Dakini were escaping down the mountain side, their shrieks of pain betraying them. The Chieftain ran off around the danger zone, sword drawn roaring a battle charge at the top of his lungs. His five sons charged after him. The other tribes had decided the Iztek had grown weak. It was time to send a message. The Iztek were a tribe of peace. Not mercy. The Dakini underestimated their ability to turn back from the peaceful lives they had lived. A mistake. The warrior lives within.

Finally the fire stopped. The clouds cleared. The mysterious woman didn't move for a few moments before she fell forwards, otherwise completely unmoving, and landed face first in on the bloody, charred ground. Lithina hurried forward pulling off her outer robe and laying it over her. She signalled to Greyst and Delan to come and help her. They gently rolled her over so that she was completely hidden within the robe and used it as a make shift stretcher to carry her to the temple. Everyone else remained on their knees as she passed, both in awe and shock. Her unconscious form was laid at the very end of the temple on the raised floor where ceremonies were carried out. Only the three High Priests had entered. The other priests remained outside, either kneeling and praying or reading passages from the Holy Books aloud to the villagers, suddenly filled with zeal.

Slowly everyone dispersed to their homes. No one went back to their work or hunting. People alone or in groups, thinking and talking about what had just happened. There was no one unfazed by the events just past. The tribe had a shaman. For the first time in hundreds and hundreds of years the tribe had a shaman.


	3. Section 1 Chapter 2

**Section 1: The Ending**

**Chapter 2 - God Amongst Men**

She groaned quietly. Every part of her body ached. She felt so drained of energy she could hardly move yet every tiny movement she forced out made her feel as though each bone in her body had been broken. Hushed voices were near, she could hear them, and even the gentle whispers pierced her ears so painfully that her eyes watered. She opened them carefully to see something covering her face. She was so out of touch with her creaking, aching body she hadn't even noticed it before. The initial outcry of her pain was dying down and slowly she was getting more used to it. She managed to raise her arm to push the cloth from her face, a thin sheet of blue silk.

A chill ran through her as the cool air hit her. A small, almost burned out candle was on the floor beside her, slightly alleviating the darkness. Behind the candle was a large wooden chest that was old and weathered and behind that was a wall with empty hooks. The hooks looked eerily empty, she had the feeling that until recently something had been hanging there. She looked to her other side to see a sheet of blue silk separating her from the rest of the room. She could see three silhouettes on the other side.

"Hello?" she called out quietly, grimacing at how weak her voice sounded. The quiet whispers stopped instantly. A soft female voice answered.

"Hello," it said. "I am High Priestess Lithina." A kindly, male voice then spoke.

"And I am High Priest Greyst." There was then a silence for a few moments followed by a huffing sigh.

"I am High Priest Delan," said the third, a malcontent and slimy voice it was.

"Do you remember what happened?" asked the Priestess sweetly. She had to think about it. Hard. It came back to her though, like a dream, something just beyond reach, yet still somehow real.

"Yes, I remember. I don't understand," she said, grabbing her head. It was so hard to remember. "I remember what I did... I just don't remember how. Or how I knew I could."

"It was the Gods," said the first kindly male voice. It was easy to tell that he was the oldest of the three, by a long way. "They sent you to save us. It must be confusing now but in time I am certain the Gods will speak to you clearly. Clearly like they never could to us. You are our Shaman."

"Not yet," snapped Delan quietly, but not quietly enough. There was a slight commotion among the three.

"Please forgive him," asked the female finally. "We are all in shock. There is food and water with you." She instantly tried to sit up and look around for it. She was parched and famished. "Please rest, you will need your energy. We will return later just before twilight for the ceremony."

"Ceremony?" asked the confused and aching girl.

"Where we call upon the Gods to bless you as our shaman." said Lithina. "Eat. Sleep. We will return when it is time."

She watched the silhouettes as they left. The first was a slender male figure who stood and turned, leaving as quickly as possible. The second was another male, a lot stockier and slightly shorter. He appeared to have a very slight stoop. He raised, descended to a bow, and left slowly after nodding to Lithina. She leant forward as though in prayer for a few seconds before standing, bowing and leaving.

The girl located the food to the side of her feet and ate heartily before falling heavily asleep again. Her dreams were racked with colour and bright lights but no rhyme nor reason.

* * *

Remtor sat in his hut, throwing and catching a dagger impatiently. He was waiting and he hated it. He woke up this morning the leader of a tribe living in peaceful bliss to now be naught but a peasant in a war. He needed to speak with the Shaman. He needed to know what she wanted. He could only assume she would seize all power over the tribe. This was the way of it, the Shaman commanded the tribe, she was both the spiritual and tactical leader. There was no other. Her advisers would be priests. The High Priests. Delan...

He caught his dagger and threw it at the wall. It buried itself in deeply in the sturdy wood, showing his rage. His home was far more substantial than Agar's shack, well made and well suited to the leader of the tribe. He saw the look on his sons' faces, who were all sitting cross legged on the fur-paved floor, watching him with their blue eyes. They understood; they knew how was happy he was that the tribe finally had a shaman again. It meant we were not forsaken. The Gods came to us in our time of need. It is not their fault the peace has ended, it is the fault of those who would do war on us. And the Gods have provided. But they felt his anger and they know why it was there. With a shaman surely this would mean that arrogant rat's hunger for power would run rampant, the clergy instantly becoming second to none. He would gain a power over them all and, knowing Delan, use that power to make their lives comparable to the Underworld. He hated Remtor and all his children and the Chieftain knew they would be made to suffer if he had any say at all in the matter.

"You never know," said one of the sons brightly. "She might chuck a fireball in his face too." They all laughed, the tension lifting slightly. All laughed except for Agar, of course. Remtor could tell from his eyes that he was deep in thought, his muteness for once not the only reason for his silence. Never seeing his son's full face made the Chieftain very good at reading his eyes. They were full of excitement from the fight. He'd watched him in their small skirmish and saw a spark there. _And finally I understand_, he thought, eyes falling on his son's hidden neck. _It wasn't what we thought. Not at all._

"Even that would be a great loss," said the Chieftain sagely. The boys looked at one another, hopelessly confused. After a long pause their father finally added, "Yes a terrible loss. I still have high hopes of gutting that little toad myself someday." The hut erupted with a cheer as there was a knock at the door.

"Enter, enter," shouted Remtor over the ruckus. The High Priestess pushed the hanging cloth door out of her way as she cautiously entered. All the men suddenly rose to their feet, the sons all stood at attention. The Chieftain had always had respect for both Lithina and Greyst. They were truly ones of the traditions of the tribe. "High Priestess, it is an honour to see you."

"And you Chieftain," she replied. "She awoke and we have spoken briefly with her. The ceremony will go ahead tonight at dusk. We ask that you, all of you, join us in the ritual." He was struck with surprise. Lithina nodded earnestly. "Of course, the blessed bloodline should be a part of this. Even forgetting your family are touched by the Gods, it has done so much for this tribe over the years."

"I'm to take it then that Delan was not included in this decision?" he asked smiling. The initiation ritual of a new shaman was usually just aided by the priests. Of course there was normally the old shaman there running things. Lithina paused for a moment.

"He has so much to organise, High Priest Greyst and I thought it would be unfair to waste his time with it when there are so many reasons for it and so few against." She smiled slightly wickedly.

"I'm sure he'll see your point of view," Remtor replied sarcastically.

"When the time comes for him to deal with it he will have far more important things to be doing, rest assured noble Chieftain." Remtor grinned.

"Then how could we refuse such an honour. We will see you this evening then."

"We look forward to it." She bowed her head respectfully and the Chieftain returned the gesture. As she was leaving she nodded to the sons, her eyes resting for a moment on Agar. Then she was gone. Agar, who was closest to the door, turned back to the others to see them all staring at him. He shrugged, he had no idea why he should gain her attention. They didn't remove their gaze though, and he shifted uncomfortably, frowning at them. He had no idea what that look was about.

Now there was little more they could do than wait. The rest of the day was unbearably slow for everyone. The anticipation high and tension that could be cut with a sword, the village was full of people who were on edge. Priests were spread throughout, reading aloud from the Holy Book. Shamans. Magic. War. The old ways were hurtling back to them and in a few hours the whole tribe would be exactly where they were all those generations ago.

* * *

Delan waited impatiently on the outskirts of town. He hated waiting. He was a High Priest, damn it, people should be waiting on him, most certainly not the other way around. The grass crunched under his feet as he paced back and forth. The scene was quiet, everyone was in their homes and no one would have ventured this far out of their out today. Delan leaned against one of the nearby willow trees, blocking his view with a drape of foliage._ Gods, _He thought. _I had to pick the most unreliable, thick-minded, buffoon like- _but his thoughts were cut short as a particularly large, chubby figure brushed through the branches.

"Many apologies High Priest." His deep voice rumbled. He was very tall and broad, squished indelicately into an initiate priest's trappings.

"I would hope so," snapped Delan. "I don't think you quite realise the true _honour_ of what I'm signing you up for. Did you read the passages I set? Do you understand what you will be doing?"

"Yes, High Priest! Words cannot express how honoured I am to even be considered."

"Well good." he said ungraciously. "The Guard was once among the greatest and most respected of the tribe and will be again." Delan's voice lowered and he allowed his speech to take on a slow and alluring drawl. "It can be you, Krel. Just imagine it, people holding _your_ name in reverence. Young men wishing they were you. Think of it." By this time Krel's eyes were already wide and gleaming, so selfish, so easily swayed. "And the things you would know. Everything she did or said. And the influence! Who would she trust more than you? None."

Delan grinned wickedly to himself. He didn't need to worry about Krel noticing, his mind was far away. So easily impressionable, so easily pushed and prodded in the right direction. Delan was so pleased with himself to have found that passage in the Holy Book. The Guard was perfect. _All I need is to have my puppet appointed and then I will be set, _he thought. _Time to turn this catastrophic turn of events into my ticket to true power._

"You could really make this happen for me?" asked the naïve priest.

"Of course, am I not the great High Priest Delan?" he grinned wider as he spoke. _He's hooked now. He'll do anything I want. _"And it's so _easy_, Krel. All you have to do is share those secrets with me. All the things you see and hear. Perhaps even now and then you could use your influence and give her ideas, given to you by me of course. You wouldn't have tell her where they came from though, oh no."

"Anything for the good of the tribe, High Priest!" He replied enthusiastically. Delan grinned darkly.

"Exactly what I wanted to hear."

* * *

Finally the time came. They left the village in a long line of people to the West, where the main town was set. It was a short walk between the two settlements but the Chieftain had always insisted on living to the East in the far smaller of the two. This way he could watch the distance and keep a look out. Down the lush, woodland hillside, they walked in silence at first until one of the younger priests began to sing joyfully. One by one people joined in until the whole pilgrimage sang with happiness. After about twenty minutes down the hillside they were at the other town and could see the temple far to the other side. As they walked and sang the people of this town joined them, walking and singing until they came to a halt outside the temple. The temple faced away from the village, over a small clearing and then to the ocean.

The temple itself was made of the strongest wood covered with a thick and higher quality of thatch than any of the other huts. It was a large round building with a corridor entrance at the front and two small rooms protruding out at the far end. The windowless building had large, deep blue runes painted all along it. She was in there. Outside the temple the High Priests were preparing. Remtor and his sons approached to take their place in the ritual, hearts pounding as they went to change their world forever.

High Priestess Lithina had been in to see her and tell her about the ritual. Her body was quaking slightly, partly through nerves, partly through exhaustion. She was still where we woke up the first time, hidden behind the silk screen. It was so bizarre to think that no one would ever see her face again as ancient law decreed that no mere mortal may gaze upon the face of a shaman. She tried to push the nerves out of her mind, to concentrate on getting ready. She could hear the singing outside grow louder. The whole tribe would be out there soon.

Quickly, she pulled off her peasant clothing and put on the dress that had been left for her. It was very rich, made from the finest blue silk. It tied around the neck leaving her back, arms and shoulders bare. It stopped high on her thighs on either side but the front and back were long, flowing to the ground. She felt odd about it at first but it was light and easy to move in so she quickly grew used to it. Some old, very old, jewellery had been left as well. While the leather cords of the necklaces were new, the beads of gold and bone were ancient. They had been passed down from shaman to shaman and it was now her turn to wear them. She slid a coiled golden snake band up her right arm to rest over her bicep. There were many heavy necklaces: one was adorned with bright blue feathers; another was a string of what where once the teeth of a carnivore; there was one made of solid gold beads, each one with a different symbol fashioned into it; and they there were just a few. She carefully examined each of them and put them on one by one. All that was left were three solid gold bangles. She put them onto her left wrist. There were no sandals. She smiled at that – barefoot was always her first choice.

Now all she could do was wait. The ceremony outside could faintly be heard and she breathed deeply in anticipation, inhaling the sweet and smoky smell of burning incense. It was cold in the temple, or perhaps it was just nerves. Either way her skin prickled, the tiny hairs on her arms standing at length. Hours ago she was just another villager, a reclusive one at that, and in mere moments she would walk out there to be worshipped as a God. The thought was terrifying. She did not feel ready, not in the slightest. Would she have guidance? Or would she be left to herself, to lead her people to ruin?

Low, monotone chanting could be heard from outside now. It was getting close. She paced back and forth feeling the uneven wooden flooring on her bare feet. She was trying to push thoughts of her upcoming duty out of her mind for now. Of the upcoming war. It was futile; such importance could not be forgotten. _I just have to get through this_, she thought. _Then I can begin worrying about that. _The events of this evening would be her initiation followed by a tribe wide celebration. No one was thinking of war except her. Her and the Chieftain.

She heard a rustling at the other end of the large temple chamber. Her heart shot into her throat. This was it. The pit in her stomach was suddenly leapt into full on nausea. _How can this scared little girl lead a tribe_, she thought. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she heard her cue.

* * *

Outside the temple the villagers waited all on their knees, bent over with their faces to the ground and their arms stretched on the ground in front of them. They were all close packed with only one personless patch of ground. A path was left leading from the entrance to the temple about ten metres to where the three High Priests were knelt in the same manner facing the temple. Everyone else faced inward to the clear path where She would walk. All faces were to the ground with no exception. All hands were on the ground except those of High Priest Greyst. His were out stretched holding something up. A bonfire raged behind them, casting long shadows in the twilight darkness.

Suddenly the cloth sheet that acted as a door to the temple blew up so hard that it tore off. While many of the closer villagers flinched, none looked up. And in the blackness of the doorway She stood. She walked hiding her fear, head high and shoulders back. She did not walk slowly or cautiously. She strode grandly along the human isle, deliberately keeping her face forward and eyes up, focused on Greyst. She came to a halt before him and surveyed the items he held. In the distance somewhere the ragged caw of a crow could be heard, the only sound to be heard with the exception of the crackling fire. The smoke filled her lungs; it had the pleasant edge of cedar to it.

In his hands was a large tribal wooden mask. Small rectangular slits were present for eyes and mouth, so small they would show only darkness when peered into. Traditional markings were painted on in blue and a fine outline of feathers encompassed it, long white feathers that blackened at the tip. She picked up the mask. It was heavy, the wood was thick and it was clearly an item built to last. Two new leather straps were around the back to hold it in place. She took a deep breath and slid it over her head. Already she could feel a great magical property within the mask. The tiny eye sockets did not seem to impair her vision at all. And from this moment on, whenever she left her home she would wear this mask.

She looked back to Greyst's arms. He still held his arms outstretched, palms up. Across his fore arms laid an impressive staff. She reached down and picked it up carefully, it was also remarkably heavy. Made from the same durable wood as the mask, the staff was slightly taller than she was and had a considerable amount of gold inlaid into it. Three thick bands were at the bottom and on the top was a golden cast of the Shaman's Eye, the most holy of all symbols. It was a simplification of an outstretched hand with an eye in the palm. For the eye, a massive glowing sapphire was cast into the gold. It was so large it protruded through the gold so the eye could be seen on both sides of the symbol. She clenched both her hands around the staff for a brief moment and took a deep breath, closely followed by a very sharp gasp.

Something was wrong. No, not wrong. Different. Odd. She could feel it, something snaking its way through her veins, cold and tingling. She couldn't think. All she could do was concentrate on the bizarre sensation working its way through her and the icy tendrils under her skin. Before she even knew what she was doing she was walking past Greyst and past the bonfire into the clearing behind him. One by one the villagers were lifting their heads to watch but she didn't even notice. She needed to do something, around here... there was something under the ground, she needed to find it. Where is it? Where IS it? It was here, something. What _was_ it? The feeling scraping at the walls of her mind, pushing everything else aside became overwhelming. She could feel it pushing harder and harder, as though something within her was about to burst out.

Eventually she stood still, staring at the ground, neck and arms falling limp. She stood like this for almost thirty seconds but it felt like so much longer to the villagers who stood silently, peering at one another in confusion. She stood there so long, so still yet so limp, like a corpse on a hook. Greyst stood at the front of the crowd, a little knowing smile on his face. He glanced at Lithina and nodded. She smiled back.

The Shaman suddenly lurched back to life and slung her limbs wildly into the air, fingers splayed in the air high above the feathers of her mask as the staff fell to her side. Small flecks of light began to jump between her fingers, slowly building up into flowing streams of jagged and crackling electricity. The ground suddenly began to quake causing the crowd to move back in gasps and shouts. Yet none could look away for long as forks of silver lightening swept around the Shaman, striking at the ground violently, cracking like the snap of a whip.

The only person who did not move nor flinch was Agar. He stood wide eyed, trembling yet unafraid. He was trembling with excitement. Caught up in the spectacle, just watching it made him feel so alive, a feeling he'd only ever felt once before. Earlier that day. When for the very first time he was engaged in real combat. He felt so alive then like nothing he'd ever felt. Drunk on adrenaline and aggression he had finally found where he belonged. However, the more he thought about it, the more he realised how disappointed he was with it. They were scared and shocked, some of them even injured. None of them put up a real fight and none came even close to harming him. He wanted more.

The striking display of the Shaman before him had him equally intoxicated. He imagined the way it must feel to have the lightening flow through him and his mind always wandered back to earlier that day, the fight, the combat. He couldn't help but smile in awe behind his bandana. The power at her fingertips, the strength and destructive force she must possess... He wasn't jealous of it. He didn't have the desire to have it himself, just to watch it. He wanted to see what she could do, he wanted to know and to understand it. The only thing he'd ever wanted more was a fight.

The quaking grew stronger and around the Shaman in a perfect circle eight disturbances formed. First the ground cracked and split and then all at once great stone pillars pushed up from the ground with a deafening rumble. They rose and rose until they were about twice her height, curved into the centre slightly. Each round pillar had a flat edge facing inward to the circle, concavely curved into the solid rock and stained a deep azure. The electrical snakes twisted and churned from the Shaman's fingertips to each of the pillars, her mask turned skyward and body visibly racked by the force. Until finally it stopped with an eerie suddenness.

The night fell silent. The rumbling ceased and the lightening died. The cautious tribe peered out from the line of homes. The Shaman remained still, arms still outstretched in the air. Very slowly, Greyst stepped forward, flicking in his jolly manner through a thick book which he rested across one arm. He found his page just as he drew level with Agar, who still stared wide eyed at the Shaman. Greyst brought his free hand down heavily on Agar's shoulder and smiled warmly at him, making Agar flinch. He'd been so absorbed he hadn't even notice Greyst approach. He blinked a few times before nodding slightly at the smiling priest. Greyst returned the nod and turned, raising his hand to address the crowd.

"And it was written:

'The stones stood tall and proud and were as old as the ground under the

feet of men and the people did go to them to mourn their great loss. They

knelt with torn hearts, some silent, some singing, but all with sorrow. For

She was gone, consigned to the stars and the night to live ever on as but

a memory of times before. And they sat sure, mourning while they could,

that before morning came they would lie slain as their beloved shaman.

And as they sat, lost in their woe, a bright blinding light burned through

the circle making the people flee in terror. The enemy was here they knew

and this was the end. And then the light died as quickly as it did appear.

And they turned to see their end and face it without fear as was the way

of the Iztek. Strong and proud and fighting to the very last! And turn they

did with sword and shield and fire in their eyes to lay their gaze up _her_.

For did She stand in the centre of those sacred stones, remade and reborn.

For a shaman may fall in battle to defend the tribe she loves but naught

but age shall truly claim her. The blessed stones that brought her forth

from the veil mark our most holy ground, that of the reincarnation site

where dreams and hope are reborn.'"

Greyst brought down his hand from the enthusiastic, preacher like waving it had been doing and closed the book. All at once the tribe erupted into a cheer. Very quickly the air filled with the beating of drums and smell of good food as the celebrations burst into life. He turned his attention to Agar who still stood beside him, staring at the party but unmoving. His brow furrowed, slightly concerned.

"You alright there, lad?" he asked, smiling reassuringly. Agar blinked a little as though breaking out of a trance. His mind had been miles away. Greyst chuckled slightly at him and patted him gently on the shoulder again. Agar nodded. "Good, good. It is a time for celebration. Go, enjoy the evening. If the events of today are anything to go by, hard times will be upon us soon. Let us see if we can make the most of being a carefree tribe of peace for one more night, eh?" Agar smiled behind his mask and nodded before slowly ambling off into the crowd. He still had his sword over his back which made Greyst smile a little more. Remtor always had been one for being prepared and now it was passing on to his children. _For the best really, _he thought. _We're going to need people like them very soon._

He turned as he heard the Shaman approach behind him. She had been stood still for some time and he had assumed she was meditating. She looked so grand stood before him in all the ancient shaman trappings, and the staff back in her hand, but her stance had begun to sag a little. He could only imagine the physical stress that sort of thing would put her under. He bowed his head to her, his jolly smile still plastered upon his face.

"You must be tired, Shaman." She gave a slight nod.

"Yes," she replied, her voice surprisingly clear behind the great wooden mask. "There is still so much I don't understand."

"I am certain it will come in time. The Gods would not have chosen you were you not made for it." His sweet, genuine smile was a great comfort to her. He truly believed it and it was obvious from his face.

"You are the High Priest Greyst, yes?" she asked and his smiled broadened as he nodded. "Forgive me, it has been a long day." He chuckled lightly.

"Dear Shaman, you really need not ask forgiveness." His head tipped slightly, contemplatively, as though he had something to say but not the courage to say it.

"Go on," she said. "I get the feeling there is more to that statement. Any advice you could give would be greatly appreciated. The High Priests are my advisors after all."

"It has always been the way, so says the Holy Book, that the shaman is a model of pure confidence, strong and unquestioning. When leading on naught but faith this seems to be to be a most important trait. A sense of arrogance is not only expected but possibly even required to succeed. My advice to you would be to remember this and act accordingly. Do not let the significance of your presence in a room be forgotten and do not be afraid to call people out. Everyone in blue answers to you. Everyone."

"I see. So I have to act the part? This'll take some getting used to." Her face was worried behind the mask, she couldn't imagine an act less like her.

"Of that I have no doubt," the kindly old man replied.

"I am going to sleep. Thank you for your advice, High Priest Greyst. I look forward to future talks with you." She inclined her head very slightly to him.

"As do I. Rest well, my Shaman." He bowed low and graciously and she set off to the temple. As she passed the partying villagers they fell to their knees to bow to her, only resuming when she was well past them. Greyst grinned at this. _Ah, the old ways. Buried and gone they were, but only skin deep._


	4. Section 1 Chapter 3

**Section 1: The Ending**

**Chapter 3 - Him**

The following day, in the mid-morning, the High Priests were assembling outside the temple. The Shaman was already inside; it was where she slept last night. The official ruling of the Shaman had begun; it was time to receive orders. Delan was first to arrive, pacing, plotting. It was important he made the right first impression on the Shaman if he were to have the influence he desired. Next came Greyst, still smiling and merry, if not squinting at the harsh sunlight. Like a true clergyman he was particularly enthusiastic at the celebrations the night before. He gave Delan a jolly nod and peered out over the Reincarnation Site in front of the temple and out to sea. It was a calm day, not even the slightest of breezes. The sun was high and bright and the air was warm. It was quiet, peaceful. No one aside from the priests seemed to be active after last night so on this summer's day the village was the perfect picture of serenity. The two stood in silence for a few minutes, Greyst still basking in the joy of the situation and Delan scowling and scheming, before Lithina came into view. She was not alone.

"What in the bloody Underworld is he doing here?!" Delan howled, gesturing at the hulking figure of Remtor.

"Calm yourself, brother," she sighed and turned her attention to Greyst. "I thought it prudent to offer the Shaman the chance to meet with the Chieftain. He has of course been the one running things around here for quite some time."

"Excellent idea!" exclaimed Greyst before the visibly fuming Delan could speak, wincing slightly at the loudness of his own voice. "Ah, I do always forget why I give up drinking every time" he said jovially with a grin. "If you would be so kind sister, would you see if the Shaman is ready for us?" She smiled and nodded, adjusting her heavy robes.

"Of course, of course." she replied. "Try not to kill each other in the meantime," she added quickly as she disappeared inside. Remtor glared at Delan, stood with his feet apart and arms folded, face fierce. His piercing blue eyes stared unblinkingly. Before either of them could start at each others' throats the High Priestess returned. She nodded once and disappeared back inside. The others followed silently.

The Shaman was knelt at the very end of the temple. It was slightly elevated above the rest of the large chamber. She remembered this spot as where she first woke up, hidden by the silken screen. That was tied back now that she was suitably concealed behind the wooden mask. The four figures approached and bowed and the three priests sat before her. Remtor remained bowed on one knee. It was remarkable really, the tribe had been so long without a Shaman yet it seemed people had not forgotten the subtle little traditions and ceremonies that being near one entailed. The priests had earned the right to offer a bow and sit as normal. All others in the tribe were expected to remain bowed until told otherwise. Even the Chieftain, who had been true ruler of the tribe for decades, did not feel he had this right of the priests. How strange they all fall back into this routine so easily, as though programmed into their very being. She imagined some poor low ranking priest running around the two villages, trying to spread the proper conduct. She smiled slightly behind the mask.

"Please, be seated," she said, trying with all effort to keep her voice steady. The act of infallible leader was a tough one for a scared young girl but her voice remained calm and neutral. The Chieftain sat quietly and swiftly but he kept his head bowed. This reverence of her felt so bizarre, so alien. The possibility of getting used to it seemed out of the question. "I believe we have a few matters of importance with regard to tradition. However first I would like to address the issue of the running of the tribe." She exaggerated a head movement to turn to the figure of Remtor. Subtle expression was going to be difficult from now on.

"I, of course, relinquish my position." He didn't look up. "The tribe needs a Shaman to lead us in this time of impending war."

"Of course, that was hardly in question," snapped Delan. The Shaman turned to look at him. He visibly shrunk as the expressionless wooden face stared at him, the eyes and mouth pitch black, gazing blankly at him. He fell silent again and peered at the ground. _They're scared of me_, she thought. She turned back to Remtor.

"Well of course," she replied, a very slight trace of sarcasm laced her words, that only Greyst seemed to detect. His jolly smile subtly changed to an amused smirk. _They actually think I'm a leader._ "However as we all know the path to enlightenment is not an easy one. It is essential that I make a strong connection with the Gods, we will need their wisdom and their power if we are to protect ourselves against the coming onslaught. But the tribe needs strong guidance right now, strong leadership."

"Exactly!" Delan chimed in. "It is essential we have a leader right now who is wise, unquestionable and experienced!" He smiled at the Shaman. She sneered behind the mask. For one who was clearly trying to control and manipulate those around him, he was incredibly stupid. Playing to one's ego was not always the best course.

"You are absolutely right, High Priest Delan." The weasely little man grinned. She was impressed with Remtor's restrain, his face did not move. She could only imagine how much he hated this priest. "Which is why it is _essential_ for Remtor to remain as the Chieftain for the time being."

"Absolute- WHAT?" exclaimed the distraught Delan who had clearly been only half listening, basking in his victory over Remtor. The Chieftain himself was somewhat taken aback himself, his face raised, mouth slightly ajar.

"I do after all have zero experience in leading the tribe," she said flatly. She had no idea how to run a tribe so delegation seemed to be the best way to keep up her guise. Not to mention the fact that Remtor was an exceptional leader. Greyst was grinning his wide jolly grin while Lithina tried her hardest to keep her face neutral. Delan opened his mouth to respond but said nothing. She was right and any protest he may have didn't have a leg to stand on. "Plus it is my understanding that the current chieftain has many years of experience and that his wisdom has brought many fortunes to the tribe?"

"Oh yes," replied Lithina emphatically. "He has been a blessing to this tribe." Delan's throat made a slight cracking sound. He was still trying to respond but reeling from shock. This wasn't supposed to happen. Greyst nodded along merrily.

"Perfect. Then it is decided. Remtor, as chieftain I ask that you continue to run this tribe as you have been." The Chieftain nodded once firmly. "And as one of the very few warriors of the tribe I ask that you prepare us for war." The tone of the room iced over. It was a subject most of the village had been trying to forget with the excitement of the new Shaman but enough time had been wasted. Who knew when the next attack would be? There would definitely be another. It had begun. The pride of the Dakini had been damaged. There would be repercussions; their sense of 'pride' was legendary. "We will need an army, and we will need one quickly." Remtor nodded firmly again.

"I shall begin immediately if you don't need me further." he said. His mind was already whirring with the task ahead, recruitment, training, arming. And this was setting aside the relief that swept over him. He wanted to jump for joy but thought that may be a little inappropriate in the temple. He began to stand.

"If you would wait just one moment please, I think your opinion would be welcome for the next topic of discussion." Lithina asked gently. He tentatively knelt back down, shooting an uncertain glance to the Shaman.

"And what topic would this be?" the Shaman asked. Delan was only just beginning to defrost from his shock.

"The Sacred Guard." Lithina replied. Delan's throat gurgled as he attempted to form words. The Sacred Guard. _This is it! _Delan thought, _my chance, finally! _

It was a tradition that one man would act as personal bodyguard to the Shaman. Go with her where ever she would, protect her night and day, be at her beck and call, obey her every command no matter what it was. Throughout the many years and many shaman, the chosen Sacred Guard would often become the shaman's closest friend and most trusted advisor. It was a position that would consume that man's whole life, but would also be the greatest honour any warrior could earn.

"Ah yes, of course!" Delan finally formed words; he'd been waiting for this. All his plans were crumbling around him – this was his last chance. "I have the perfect candidate in mind." Lithina smiled.

"As do I," she said bluntly. Delan stiffened his jaw. _Of course you do, scheming witch. _There was a moment of awkward silence amongst the assembled.

"Well since you both have the 'perfect' person for the job, shall we hear it?" she Shaman said sharply but not unkindly. It worried her a little how she found herself speaking. It didn't sound like her at all. This, being a shaman, possessing the power, was changing her.

"A terribly gifted young man, strong, bright, capable!" Delan shot in right away. He'd lost a lot of ground today; he wouldn't lose any more without a fight. "And very brave so as I understand it. He is one of our initiate priests so he is well aware of the true traditions and is very conscious of upholding them." The Shaman nodded, clearly considering this seriously.

"An initiate? His name?" asked Lithina coldly. Delan grinned. The Shaman was listening to him, finally, and Lithina clearly did not like it. Wonderful.

"Krel," he replied. The High Priestess's eyes widened and mouth fell agape.

"Krel?" she replied, but was cut off by the Shaman before she could object further.

"Is your alternative more suitable?" asked the masked face a little roughly. The Shaman was tired, it had been a confusing and taxing time since the Dakini pushed forward. The priestess nodded firmly and confidently.

"Agar the Silent." As she finished speaking the Shaman saw Delan puffing up in a rage, ready to burst so she raised her hand swiftly, silencing him. The Shaman gave Lithina a nod to continue. From the corner of her eye she could see Remtor glance at the priestess briefly, a combination of what appeared to be surprise and relief on his face as he looked to the ground. "For a start he is one of the very few of this tribe trained in combat – which could be slightly helpful for a bodyguard. Plus he is one of the chosen, blessed by the Gods themselves. Not to mention that it would allow the initiation to be a little less barbaric." The Shaman nodded, but Delan merely peered on confused and enraged. The Shaman noticed and turned the blank, dark stare of the mask upon him.

"I would have thought one of my High Priests would know more of the traditions," she said coldly.

"'And he, of solid heart and mind and spirit'," began Remor, not looking up from his bowed position. "'To whom the dance of combat is as his home, must be as the hills and the trees. For they hear the secrets of men and Gods alike, but can never tell a soul.'" Lithina smiled, listening to Remtor as he directly quotes the Holy Book. The Sacred Guard must be unable to speak, normally this was achieved by a ritual mutilation of the throat during the initiation.

"This Agar the Silent," the Shaman began. "Of the bloodline, you say? A brother of yours?" she asked to Remtor. She was of very humble origins and knew little of the Chieftain's family.

"My youngest son-" he started before being cut off.

"A scrawny brat!" Delan interjected. The Shaman shot him another glare, patience wearing thin. The black hollow eyes of the mask were enough to make Delan shrink back.

"He's a small lad, yes, but I challenge you to find anyone faster," the Chieftain replied, still not looking up, his restraint was however clearly of great effort. "He's a good fighter, a stunning hunter and the most loyal person I know."

"I couldn't think of a better choice," said Greyst, breaking his contemplative silence.

"He is the perfect candidate," Lithina said firmly. "Provided of course he will be willing to give up his life. To call this position full time might be somewhat of an understatement."

"He will be," Remtor replied solidly, with a hint of 'whether he wants to or not' about his tone. The Shaman shot another cold look to Delan.

"So it is decided then," she said with an unquestionable authority. How well she pulled it off surprised her immensely. Delan was again sitting in shock and rage.

"The sooner the better. We should have this official before tomorrow," Lithina said.

"I'll take care of the boy," said the Chieftain.

"Excellent. Thank you all. Now, I believe we have a lot to get on with." said the Shaman, her warm and welcoming tone returning. Remtor respectfully lowered his head to the ground before standing and hurrying off. The three priests then followed suit, though Delan was still in his shocked, unthinking mode.

_Agar the Silent_, she thought. She'd heard the name around when she was just another villager but knew nothing of him really, save for the obvious. It was slightly scary really, from now onwards he would practically be with her at all times. _He can't be as bad as anyone that Delan would recommend. The man wants power and I've never trusted bastards who want that. Who can I trust though? The Chieftain perhaps. The other two priests? Perhaps._

She sighed and flexed her fingers. Cold, blue flames danced on them. She hadn't even realised they were there. It kept happening. The mana, the physical embodiment of pure magic, was strong within her but she could hardly control it. This would have to be the first thing she learned. She closed her eyes tightly and waited for the voices to return.

* * *

Remtor burst back into his hut like a conqueror. His face was stern but his stance was held more expression than was necessary to the sons who sat waiting. Success dripped from him, oozing from every pore. He saw them waiting with anticipation and he smiled broadly.

"I remain the Chieftain of this tribe for now," he said and the sons cheered. "I need you to head out there and round up anyone who's willing to fight and begin their training. War is coming. The Gods have given us this chance and we shall not squander it." The sons, all smiling, bowed and hurried to the exit. They had been waiting for this. "Not you, Agar. I need words with you."

They all stopped abruptly, looking wide eyed at Agar, who himself was looking wide eyed at his father. He was confused and now apprehensive, wildly trying to think of any mischief he'd recently caused. Remtor narrowed his eyes at the others and nodded to the door. Each one gave Agar another solemn look and headed out. Clearly they too thought he was in trouble. Again. But what for this time?

The hut now contained just him and his father, who had moved round to sit grandly in his fur covered chair. It was the only chair in the hut, one of the very few in the village, with a high back and covered in the full skins of animals. Agar stood in front of the chair with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes staring at the ground guiltily. He didn't even know what he felt guilty for. Remtor smirked a little.

"You aren't in trouble, boy." He said. "Though I'll be very interested in finding out what you think I know later. No, this is about something else." Agar looked up finally, both relieved and confused.

_ Something else?_ He thought.

"We have a special job for you, I'm sure you won't refuse."

_Oh Gods, _he thought. _What am I in for now? _

Remtor's face darkened a little. He still couldn't believe he had never put two and two together. This was what it meant all along. Now that the time was here he was apprehensive. He was effectively ordering Agar to give up his whole life. Back in the day this was such an honour that people were not deterred, it was the ultimate privilege and a guarantee into a very luxurious after life. Now it was merely a myth that only really the priests knew about, if that. Agar had noted the look on the Chieftain's face and his own brow furrowed in concern.

"Sit Agar, I have a story to tell you."

* * *

Lithina sat in the sand by the water's edge, her bare feet being gently licked by the small ocean waves. On her knee she had a circular shield with a dull matte of a silver surface. It was still slightly warm from when the alterations had been made. In the centre of it the symbol of The Shaman's Eye had been beaten into the back so it stood proud onto the front of the shield. She had some strange scented oils which she was using to buff the metal. It was proving to be quite effective as the dull metal began to glisten and shine in the sunlight. She could hear someone approach her from behind. _Here we go._

"What do you want, Delan?" she asked in a bored tone which further annoyed him, not even looking up.

"What do you _think_ I want, you manipulative little witch?" he snapped back, glaring down at her.

"Careful, Delan, don't forget that we are equals, you and I." She looked up at him, eyes narrow.

"Oh spare me, girl. What bloody right do you think you have to undermine my authority with the Shaman?"

"Who's authority?!" She put the heavy shield aside with effort and stood up, eyes staring fiercely into Delan's. "We are both High Priests, 'boy', and I've every right to advise the Shaman how I see fit. Do not think to blame me for you being unable to back up your ridiculously ill-conceived ideas. Remtor's son is the perfect choice for the Shaman's Guard and you know it! Of course, it's not the Shaman you're thinking about, is it?"

"Don't dare slander me, woman! Krel... Krel would have made a- a-"

"-A mockery out of the whole situation. I held my tongue when you allowed for him to be initiated but this? I would never let that slide." She could feet the flush on her face, the anger she felt at this man. He had been a priest far longer than she, yes, but what good had he ever done?

"Oh and you think Remtor's deformed little rat will do any better? Ha! Don't think this is over," he said, his face almost purple in frustration. "The Shaman will soon learn who her _true_ allies are!"

"Oh good, you should start packing your things then." He looked as though he was about to explode.

"This is not over," he repeated, the calmness and quietness of his voice so clearly forced he was shaking. "You will learn I am not to be trifled with." With that he stalked off toward the temple. Just what she needed. Delan on the rampage. Again.

She sat back down to continue her work on the shield. She was positive Agar was the right choice for this. A man with no voice had only his actions to speak for him and Agar's spoke loudly. Strong, talented and brave. Granted, there was a fair amount of mischief thrown in as well but he was young. It must be difficult, being young without a voice. Very few people had time for him because of it which is probably why he acted up so much. _Must be lonely,_ she thought.

* * *

Wine coloured a deep, blood red dripped slowly down the wall as angry, hateful screaming filled the cavernous room. Two men knelt side by side, arms forward and head down, trembling and waiting for her to finish her rant. Finally she stopped pacing and stood before them, the dark, hollow eyes of her mask bearing down upon them. Slowly they looked up, but did not move from their bowed position, at the woman in red behind the shaman mask.

She was an almost sickly thin woman of average height, her slender frame wrapped in a thigh length dress formed from crimson silk. Long tribal tattoos weaved out from under the short sleeves running down both of her arms to her wrists and were mirrored on her legs. Her mask was almost triangular, thick at the top and tapering into a point at her chin. It had scarlet sigils painted over it and around it there were four long gray feathers that plumed out of the mask, two from the top and two from the sides. Her arms and ankles were encircled in gold and in one hand she held her grand staff, a gargantuan ruby encased in the Shaman's Eye at the top.

"They dare throw back my gracious offer?!" she shrieked. "We are the Dakini and we shall NOT settle for this insult. How dare they? How _dare_ they? And now they have a _shaman_? After all these years? They know, the Gods, they know of my plans. Bah, anything for a little _sport_, isn't that right you damn meddlers?" The two frightened men returned their faces to the floor as she addressed the ceiling. "Dammit, if you want this war then you're bloody well going to get it. You two!" She pointed one long, spindly finger at the bowed men. They gingerly looked up. "Go, prepare the next force. We need that vault before they can muster an army." The men scurried off, relived to not be in the presence of their enraged shaman any longer.

She paced back and forth again for a moment before picking up another cup filled with wine and hurling it at the wall. _So,_ she thought. _The Iztek are back in The Game, are they? Oh they will regret this. Once that tower is mine... _She began to cackle out loud. It was all about The Game. It had finally become all-consuming for her. The Game... and the prize. She wanted it more than anything. She would have sacrificed each and every one of her tribesmen to get that prize. They are all that stands between her and absolute power. _I have the strength of the three Vaults... just one more... just one more..._

* * *

_ He's taking it surprisingly well, _Remtor thought, eyeing his son who was just sitting, staring blankly in front of him. A few more moments had passed and he still hadn't moved. _Hmm._

"Agar? Still there?" he asked. Finally Agar blinked and looked up at his father. Raising an eyebrow he pointed a finger to his chest as though asking: 'Me? Really?' Remtor chuckled then smiled sadly.

"Of course boy. It was always supposed to be you."

Agar frowned a little at his father and then put his fingers to his neck. _This is why you did it._ "I'm so sorry, son. Please let me explain. When you were born I began to have these dreams, these nightmares – ask your brothers, they'll remember. At first I thought they were just dreams but after time I knew they were something else. I didn't know what but I knew there was something wrong. I went to the High Priest Greyst to see if he could help. I told him about them. Wars, lights, fire raining from the sky. And in all of them you were there, you were crying but made no sound. Eventually he came back to be with some of passages from the Holy Book about the Guard and about the wars of our ancestors. It all made sense finally and I _knew_ the Gods were telling me something. Then we both came to the conclusion that your voice would be the sacrifice for peace. We thought that the Gods we telling us that if the sacrifice wasn't made then the times of peace would end – and believe me I thanked the Gods everyday ever after that was all they asked of you. And the very same night that we carved into your tiny throat-"

Agar clasped his own neck tighter, swallowing heavily. He thought of his reflection on the water's edge, how tried never to look below his chin at the horrific scars that covered his neck. All his life people believed the bandana was a symbol of his muteness but no, it was just to hide the scars. The people had believed he was born this way – no one even suspected what his father and the High Priest had done with the exception of his mother and brothers. He finally understood why he had been made to hide the scars. It was because _he_ did this to me. Heat suddenly flared through him, his eyes furrowing with anger. _Wait, my brothers! They must have known... they kept this from me? All these years?_ His sudden internal rage was pushed aside as his father bombarded him with more details.

"-was the night the dreams stopped. We thought the Gods had been sated! But that wasn't what they were telling us at all. I understand now. They were telling us that in my life time the peace would end... and that you would be the Guard."

Agar seemed to almost glare at Remtor for a moment, trying to process his words carefully. _I always thought being of the bloodline was weird enough but this? _He shook his head and rubbed his tired eyes. He could feel himself losing the conversation as his father began spouting all this 'destiny' rubbish. _It's not me, it's not me. _The panic and worry rising in him was enough to drown out the rest of his emotions, the anger and the sense of betrayal he felt swept away with an immediate crushing responsibility on him. Thoughts were shooting through his head faster than his feelings could keep up with them, he began to breathe slightly faster as the overwhelming pressure came over him. This was not his life anymore; this was the honour of his family. And he knew, just like that, it was over. His sense of duty had been provoked more than his indignation.

"It's _you_, Agar." Remtor said firmly. "Ignoring the dreams and everything, you have been chosen here and now. I only told you that so you… you would know why I did it." He leaned forward and brought his hands down heavily on both of Agar's shoulders, with a slightly disconcerting grin and staring straight into his eyes. "Do your duty. Make me proud."

That was the end of it. Agar nodded firmly. _I will_, he thought. _I will make you proud, Father. _Sinking his teeth into his lower lip to try and quell the mash of fear and anger that still lingered, he found some resolve. This was his chance to prove his worth, bring honour to his family. Though the strong fire in him did not die easily. As Remtor released his shoulders Agar rubbed them a little. His father was a strong, strong man. As the Chieftain stood up so did Agar.

"Okay, come with me. First stop we check on your brothers. Then we head to the temple," Remtor said. He noticed his son's worried eyes. "You'll be fine, boy. The only thing you should be worried about is how much time this is going to make you spend around Delan."

Agar frowned in sudden realisation. _Oh Gods, he's right!_ Remtor laughed loudly as he saw the sudden despair in Agar's eyes.

"Have fun with that," Remtor grinned wickedly. Agar rolled his eyes. _Fantastic._

* * *

It was early afternoon and the sun way high in the sky. Lithina had finished with the shield and slowly attempted to carry it back the short distance from the shore to the temple. She saw Greyst by the temple's entrance and waved him over. He trotted to her, his usual jolly expression about him.

"Need a hand my dear?" he said jovially, easily picking up the large shield. She sighed with relief.

"Ah, thank you, brother. Huge beastly things." She patted her hands together, knocking some sand from them.

"It looks marvellous!" He said admiring the front. It glistened brightly and the embossed eye had been coloured in a rich blue.

"Only the best," she said brightly. "Any word from the Chieftain?"

"I saw him briefly," he said as they arrived at the temple's entrance. He rested the shield on the ground and they both leaned against the wall, peering out to sea. "He had the lad with him, going to check on our growing little army I believe. Said they wouldn't be long."

"Ah, good good." she replied, resting her head against the wooden wall. Glancing sideways at Greyst, a little concern was on her face. "Do you... do you think he's up to it?"

"Oh I know he is," he replied with absolute certainty. "Let us just say that this was foretold years ago." Lithina blinked at him and remained silent for a few seconds.

"This is to do with-"

"It's not for me to say." Greyst interrupted.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to pry," she said hurriedly, returning her gaze to the ocean.

"No no, not at all, dear sister. Just that I was never a major player in this particular thread of the tribe's destiny. Perhaps now that things have played out as desired by the forces above he will be a little more talkative about it."

"Well I won't be bothering him with it for some time. You know what he's like when trouble's afoot. Delegating was never his strong point," she uttered, a thin smile on her lips. Greyst suddenly began chuckling out loud. She tilted her head at him, clearly confused.

"Could you imagine?" He said, continuing to laugh. "The most feared and respected warrior of our time! Krel?" She raised her brow for a moment before joining in, both laughing so hard they never noticed the Shaman creep past them and head off into the village.

* * *

She still couldn't get used to the way people would bow as she passed. She would hurry past to make least of it but somehow she never looked hurried. More striding, impressive, moving with a purpose. What that was she wasn't totally sure but she knew the key to knowledge was not in the temple. The powers of the Shaman were nature –she needed to be around it with every fibre of her being. She quickly approached the edge of the village and disappeared into a dense cluster of trees just bordering the town.

She felt significantly more at ease the moment she stepped among them, smiling up at the entwining branches, the birds hopping between them carelessly. It was strange. She'd seen them many times before but now felt like she'd never really _seen_ them. Furrowing her brow behind the mask she tried to figure out what she meant. She had no idea really. There was a lot more to them though, definitely. _Gods, this sounding wise is going to take some doing._

She stood, peering at the trees around her awkwardly for a moment before proceeding to climb the closest one to her with surprising ease. She'd always been a climber; never did she feel more at ease than sitting up high on the branches of a tree. The tree she was in was old, very old from the looks of it. The branch she was currently using as a perch was thicker than the trunks of some of the other nearby trees and its bark was dark and gnarled. The vines of other nearby plants wove around it and used it as a sturdy frame. Behind the mask she smiled, feeling more at home than she ever could inside. She ran her hand gently along the bark feeling the deep, rough lines. She inhaled deeply, breathing in the lush smell of the leaves. For just that moment she was lost in this perfect little world and she began to feel something in her head, a strange soothing sensation like cool, fresh water flowing gently across the back of her eyes.

The feeling was snapped away by sudden voices beneath her caught her attention, they were hushed, cautious. She could see Remtor below her clearly and she tried to edge her way around the trunk to hide as much as she could. She couldn't see who he was talking to though.

"-and as I said, I'm not looking for a confrontation with him. I've enough to deal with as it is."

"I know, I know," said the mystery voice, a much younger sounding man and much gentler tone. "I just think more people should know he's not fit to wear that title. I mean c'mon, the general populous believe he has done as much for us as the other two High Priests. He's just a showman and a smooth talker-"

"How anyone would believe that is beyond me." Remtor interjected.

"I agree with you, but the point still stands. He's managed to dupe the rest of them with their limited exposure to him-"

"You see, that's just it," the Chieftain said in his hushed tones. "The Shaman's exposure to him will _not_ be limited and let's not forget she is no normal person. I would wager she has him sussed already."

"I'm just worried this is going to scare him into going into hiding, acting like his should have been all these years," the voice muttered grimly.

"I wouldn't half mind that, get the bastard doing his job for a change. Anyway if that is the case I will be watching like a hawk. Least he wouldn't be anyone's problem for a while."

"Good. I know you aren't the type for a false sense of security." The voice chuckled a little. "How's Agar hanging on?"

"Ah, he'll be fine. A little shocked and probably in a whole world of worry but there's not much we can about that," Remtor said matter of factly. "I sent him off to sharpen and polish his sword."

"Really? He keeps that thing spotless. Loves it, he does. Bit too much probably."

"Heh, yes I know but to call him antsy would be somewhat of an understatement. Needed something to do. Speaking of being antsy, what's got you so wound up about Delan all of a sudden?" Remtor asked, raising his brow a little.

The owner of the other voice stepped forward far enough that his face was no longer obstructed by the leaves. He was tall and bulky much like Remtor, with the same unusual blue eyes. _The bloodline – another son perhaps?_ The Shaman thought. She tried to think of Delan, of the problem he could prove to be but she found herself surprisingly disinterested with this. These were the first things she'd heard of this Agar, the one who would be shadowing her every move from today until the day he died. She would never question the traditions of the tribe but the whole idea made her skin crawl.

"I'm just being cautious. I can't help but think all this kicking off – it's going to get him thinking, or worse, putting some mad plot into action."

"Noted. But we've no real reason to suspect that of him." Remtor said dismissively.

"But you do, don't you?" the son asked earnestly.

"I'd like to see you prove that, Renack." The Chieftain replied, with a sly smirk. With that he turned and headed onward toward the town, his son in tow.

* * *

"What do you mean you've lost the Shaman?" Delan asked hysterically. Lithina pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head.

"Whatever happened to this being a building of peace?" she asked quietly to no one. Sighing with relief, she smiled as she saw Remtor and his third son Renack enter the temple.

"We've lost the Shaman?" Remtor asked, raising a brow.

"No," Lithina replied, rolling her eyes Delan's way.

"Then where is she?" demanded Delan.

"Crazy as it might seem," she began. "The Shaman is not a prisoner here and is more than allowed to wander _her_ tribe. Do you really think she's going to sit idle in the temple all day when there is so much to be done?"

"What could she be doing?" Delan persisted. "I am telling you, she is gone!"

"Who is?" They all spun round to see the Shaman stood at the entrance, arms crossed over her chest and expressionless mask facing their way. Remtor and Renack immediately dropped to their knees and the Shaman waved her hand, indicating for them to stand.

"We thought you were but apparently we were mistaken so all problem averted!" Delan exclaimed, smiling sheepishly and nervously playing with his fingers.

"Hmm, yes," she uttered. "Where is High Priest Greyst?"

"He went to see about the necessary pigment," Lithina replied. "He should be back any moment now."

"Is there anything else we need?" the Shaman asked.

"No, we have the shield and the rites and the other 'item'," the High Priestess said as she gestured to the shield propped against the wall. "All we need now is the pigment. And the boy himself, of course." She peered at the Chieftain.

"He is ready," Remtor said in his deep, gruff voice. "I will go and get him now."

"Thank you, Chieftain," the Shaman said, stepping away from the doorway. He and his son gave a slight bow and left. "It's time, then?" Lithina nodded.

The Shaman exhaled nervously behind the privacy of her mask. Recently the thing had been a blessing for hiding her nerves. She walked to the head of the temple, up the very slight slope at the end and stood facing the entrance on the same spot she originally woke here. Lithina and Delan followed and sat facing her at the bottom of the slightly elevated platform. _And now we wait_, she thought. She closed her eyes as she felt the strange cool flow pushing behind her eyes again. It was odd, it seemed to be spreading, the cold, soothing sensation slowly licking through her sinuses. It snakes up to her ears, down her nose and very slowly it began moving down her throat. _What are you? _she thought.

* * *

Agar was hurrying along after his father's huge strides, both trying to keep up and trying to keep his mind from racing. Remtor hadn't stopped grinning with pride since he'd told Agar about his new position. Agar didn't really feel pride which was annoying as he'd heard this was the major perk of the job. All he felt at the moment was self-doubt. If anything happened to the Shaman it was his fault. If anything happened to her the tribe would be so much more vulnerable until her resurrection. Anything could happen in that time and it would be all his fault. Of course, as this was the first real responsibility he'd even been given, he was starting to worry.

Remtor was convinced he was the only one for the job. He was chosen by the Gods, after all. How could he not be? _No,_ he thought. _It's more than that. There's a fire in him. _All of Remtor's children had a fighter's spirit in them but there was something difference about Agar. He really had a bright burning _fire_ there. He was always in trouble for playing rough and getting in fights. Fair play to the boy, he never started them. However, he always finished them and the state of his antagonist was never a pretty sight. On the outside he was always very disappointed and stern. On the inside he was so damn proud.

They were approaching the temple. To Agar it seemed so much more ominous than it ever had before. It was a relatively large building and wooden as with the majority of structures. However unlike the others the heavy thatching that covered it was darker and it had no windows. He'd never noticed before but the darkness and the lack of windows made it seem very grim – or at least at this moment in time. The inside was an unknown quantity (only the priests and a few special people went inside) but he didn't imagine it being any cheerier. As they walked along side it he carefully eyed the large blue symbols painted on the side of it before his attention was finally grabbed by the sound of Remtor's voice.

"Ah, honourable High Priest," he said, barely more than a whisper. "A pleasure to be met by you here. He is ready." He smiled proudly at Agar, who could give him little more than a nervous furrow of his brows in return.

"The pleasure is all mine, good Chieftain," Greyst beamed back at him. He nodded to Agar, smiling equally warmly. "Are you ready, boy?"

"He is," Remtor stated certainly before Agar could even nod. "His whole life has been building up to this moment. You are ready, lad." He slapped a reassuring hand onto his shoulder, a warm gesture but his father's strength nearly knocked the light-weight over. Remtor chuckled slightly. "The question is, are you ready for him?"

"Oh yes, they are just getting finished up inside. Any moment now, boy, any moment," Greyst said quietly as he peered behind the hanging cloth door. "Not quite. You can't go in, Remtor. I'm afraid this is a strictly priest ritual." Remtor frowned slightly but nodded. Agar swallowed heavily, nerves rising steadily. He shot his father a glance, hoping he'd get the message.

"What does he have to do?" the Chieftain asked. Agar exhaled in relief slightly. No one understood him like Remtor did. For a brief moment he wondered how much he would actually get to see his father after this. Who would actually help him communicate? Then it occurred to him, he probably wasn't expected to. The silent protector who was both there and not, ignored as a part of the furniture. _Best friend and trusted advisor_, he thought. _And people believed it. How am I supposed to advise anyone?_ He shook his head very slightly, he was just panicking and he knew it. _Don't get ahead of yourself._

"Oh, don't worry, boy," Greyst grinned. "All you have to do is sit still!" He bared a great toothy smile which unsettled Agar a little. _There's something he's not telling me…_ he thought. "I walk in with you behind me. I bow to the Shaman, move to the side and take my seat. Then you move forward to where I was stood, bow and then kneel – on both knees – and remain there until we're done with you." That also sounded vaguely ominous.

"Doesn't sound too bad," the Chieftain said, smirking wickedly at his son.

"He'll be fine. At the end you'll be asked to rise, given your nice new shiny shield and that's you! Officially on the job, effective immediately." Greyst smiled broadly and peered back around the door. Slapping his hands together and rubbing them he chuckled slightly. "Game time!"

* * *

The entrance had gone exactly as Greyst had described. In his nervous state Agar hadn't had much time to take in his surroundings but picked up a few things that were all equally unsettling. Such as the darkness. It was the middle of the day, brilliant sunshine but in here was dark and only lit by a few candles right at the end of the room, around the Shaman. There were however bright enough to show that the entire temple was packed with priests. Before he really knew what was happening he was knelt before the Shaman, eyes to the ground.

He desperately wanted to look up, to look at her and take in all detail of the woman, the _demi-god _he'd be protecting for the rest of his life. He'd never been this close to her before. He didn't look up though, now was the time for respect and first impressions. Begin as you mean to go on. Do the job justice. Be worthy.

_It's him,_ she thought, peering at Agar behind the mask. She'd been waiting all day for this expecting someone exceptional. In a way she was right – he was exceptional. The majority of the men in the tribe were over six feet tall and almost the same across in muscle. This warrior –the best, they'd said- was tiny by comparison. Now she remembered they had called him scrawny. Scrawny but fast and loyal. The Chieftain had faith in him and thus so did she. He was a strong and powerful leader but he was also the superstitious and Gods fearing type. He wouldn't lie to her, not even about his son. Of all the people in the world right now, she trusted Remtor the most.

She continued to inspect him as she sat motionless while listening to the priests went about the ritual. She was mildly disappointed as virtually none of his face was visible between the hair covering his eyes and the bandana from his nose down. _How am I supposed to get to know someone with no voice or expression?_ She thought.

The ritual spoke of divine duty and servitude. Of fighting without fear or question. They laid blessing after blessing upon him and surrounded him with sweet smelling incense. All the while he stayed motionless, eyes locked on the ground in front of him. There was about an hour or so of this before Greyst came and knelt before him with a small wooden box. Out of it he pulled three glass bottles filled with liquids: one black; one blue; and one clear. Next he pulled out a long metal pin which was the first thing that had coaxed him into looking up. It had a hollow end. He looked a little urgently into Greyst's eyes. Greyst mouthed to him: 'This is going to hurt. I'm sorry.'

Agar immediately looked down in an attempt to hide his panic, only to see the bottle of clear liquid shimmer oddly in the light. He blinked a few times thinking he'd imagined it. His attention was quickly snatched by the next words of the ritual. Lithina was speaking, standing at his side.

"And his blessing shall be written in history and in flesh. The great Eye of the Shaman shall be with him always and guide his blade."

So Greyst began his work, etching into the flesh on the upper left of his chest with the ink soaked pin. Each puncture was deep to ensure the mark would remain with him until the end of his days. At first he tried to hide the pain but it didn't last long. The needle went deep and there was something about the ink. It stung worse that vinegar and salt combined and every wound that was made was gone over again with the clear liquid. Agar had no idea what it was but it made the ink feel soothing in comparison. With eyes clenched firmly closed, this was the first time he'd thanked being mute. His body tried to cry out in pain but no sound came. He fought to stay still, fingers wrapped tightly around the loose cloth of his trousers. Words were being spoken but he couldn't hear them.

Eventually Greyst stopped. There was a constant throbbing pain and the sharp sting of the ink persisted but cessation of the stabbing was such a relief that that pain was momentarily all but washed out. He opened his eyes slowly to see Greyst smiling apologetically. Breathing raggedly, he glanced down to see the symbol that was now a part of him. Through the blood and swelling he could see that it was The Shaman's Eye inked in blue with a solid black outline. Agar flinched a little as a priest began mopping it down with a cold, wet cloth. He remained still, trying to regain his composure as they continued to clean it and wrap bandages around his chest, flinching involuntarily at even the lightest touch. As they finally finished manhandling him he exhaled very slowly, again in relief.

"The mark is made and the flesh reborn," High Priestess Lithina began again. "And let this finish with the final gift. Agar the Silent, son of Remtor and Sacred Guard of the great shaman of the Iztek, rise!"

He stood slowly, having to hold the ground with his hand for a moment. Apparently he'd lost more blood than he thought to their crude method. Lightheaded, he stood at attention as best he could, finally getting the chance to get a proper look at the Shaman as he desperately tried not to sway. She had been stood deathly still the entire time, which had been unsettling enough, but now he looked directly into the dark emotionless eyes of the mask. She sent cold shivers down his spine and he began to think that perhaps the Guards were so loyal as a result of how truly terrifying staring into the eyes of a shaman was.

She had been watching uncomfortably. She had no idea how but she could _feel_ the pain in his chest. It wasn't like she was experiencing it but she knew to every detail what he felt including his current fear. She sympathised with him, she imagined he had been thrust into this in a similar manner to the way she had been. 'Whether he wants to or not' Remtor had said. However her real intrigue was sparked by the fact that she could see his eyes, finally a read on what he was thinking. Though as she looked into them finally that wasn't what she thought. She didn't really think anything, for those few brief seconds she was lost in those eyes.

After a moment or two she managed to regain her composure, turning and from behind her she picked up the glistening embossed shield. Holding it in both her hands, she smiled at the Shaman's Eye symbol seemingly smiling back at her from the shield. She walked slowly toward Agar, doing a good job of hiding how heavy she found it. _I can't show weakness,_ she thought. Her breath was shallow as she stood just before him, raising reverse of the shield to him. Gingerly, he slid his right arm through the first strap and took a firm grip of the other. The Shaman let go and took a single step back. He winced briefly as pain shot through his chest but he fought it back very quickly. Within seconds he was taken with it.

He peered over the top of the shield and smiled behind his mask. He ran the fingers of his right hand over the shining polished metal ever so gently, not even noticing the screaming pain this caused in his chest. He just stared at the shield in his hands, slowly and lovingly stroking it. After a few seconds remembered where he was and held the shield up in front of him, standing at attention before bowing smartly to the Shaman.

"It is done," the voice of Lithina rung out over the silence. He heard people at the back begin to quietly shuffle out. Moving as gracefully as he could he moved to the side of the raised platform to face out into the main temple chamber and stood at attention with his shield resting against his legs. The Shaman stood quietly, watching them leave until finally the three high priests remained. She noted Delan shooting a glare to her new guard.

"Okay," she said carefully. "I'm going to see the Chieftain to see how our army is shaping up. I know I can't hope for much after half a day but I anticipate it being necessary very soon. Dark times are coming. I need one of you to organise the priests into spreading the good word of the tribes past feats. They need reminding that the heart of a warrior is something we're known for outside of the tribe. We need any and all doubt pushed from people's minds that we can fend the others off. We can and we will."

"Yes, Shaman," Greyst said. "I will take care of this."

"And I will go and see how the arming is going," Lithina offered. The Shaman nodded.

"I'll accompany you in seeing the army, should you decide I am needed once you see it," Delan added. Agar, even with the pain he was feeling, couldn't help but be angered by those words. _As though he would be any better at organising an army than my father, _he thought bitterly.

"Very well. Let's go." The Shaman set off towards the plains separating the two towns with Delan by her side and Agar in tow.


	5. Section 1 Chapter 4

**Section 1: The Ending**

**Chapter 4 - We Are More**

The training could be heard a decent way off, shouting and clunking of wood on wood, scuffling and running and the pounding of feet ringing out. The sun was high and beating out a dry heat to all below it. Agar could hear Delan's voice as they walked but he wasn't listening to the words. He didn't care. It was hot, he was tired and still feeling painful and light headed. Tuning out that loud, abrasive voice would need to become second nature now. Every now and then the soothing and gentle voice of the Shaman danced in the air but not often. Agar couldn't decide whether or not the Shaman was a woman of few words or if she was also trying to tune out Delan. He gave her no respite though, every moment his grating burble persisted.

The training field finally came into view, lines of men locked in practice combat with one another, bashing and flailing wildly with makeshift wooden swords. He smiled behind his bandana a little, glad to have a decent amount of training behind him already. The task of going from a hunter to a warrior overnight wasn't one he envied. _Not to even think of the poor buggers who can't even hunt_, he thought. His train of thought was interrupted as Remtor's call bellowed out over the mock battles. Ah yes, Agar remembered the early days of training. You'll do it until you do it right. No stopping for food, no stopping for sleep, no stopping when you passed out from exhaustion. Being picked up and clouted about until waking up was surprisingly inspiring, however. _That was a long day_, Agar recollected.

They came to a stop as they hit the edge of the makeshift training ground, which was really just one of the few spare scraps of land near town. The grass that had been there was already beginning to become little more than trampled dirt. Remtor hadn't even spotted them yet; he was far too enthralled in straightening up the technique of some terrified looking soul who appeared to have never fought even a frightened bunny. Delan scoffed in disapproval, arms crossed over his chest theatrically for a moment before waving his hands about as he spoke.

"Really, the arrogance of the man! To keep his shaman waiting! Who does Remtor think he is!?" Before Agar could scowl at the complacent priest the Shaman was already responding, her voice retaining the characteristic calm flow Agar was beginning to associate with her.

"I would have thought you'd find the Chieftain's style rather comforting right now," she said, drawing a confused silence from Delan. "We quite possibly have a matter of hours before we face a well-trained and prepared army. I think his time is better spent, oh I don't know, training people? I merely came to observe the progress, not waste his precious time." Delan remained silent, glaring out over the masses training.

Remtor worked his way along the front line of people, calling out every slight imperfection in stance or swing. Even in attitude – a few people were not thinking 'bloodthirsty' enough for the Chieftain's liking. The man was intent on turning this fluffy crowd of peaceful tribe's folk into a rabid war machine fuelled by regimented lines of psycho killers. At the moment there was little more than the clumsy striking of homemade practice swords that appeared to have a tendency of falling to bits but the 'enthusiastic' approach of Remtor was quite inspiring as to what to expect as an end result.

One of the poor trainees finally spotted the Shaman watching and fell to his knees, closely followed by everyone around him leading to a wave like effect as the entire field dropped to the ground. She sighed irritably behind her mask but before she could tell them to rise Remtor beat her to it.

"Did anyone tell you to stop, you Gods damned bunch of slacking wastrels?!" he roared. _Ah, memories_, Agar thought to himself cheerily, grinning. Immediately they all sprung back to life and returned to trying to beat each other with sticks. The Chieftain only then went to address the Shaman, dropping to one knee before her. "My apologies but I fear they have little time to waste."

"Up." She said sharply. "I'm not here to waste anyone's time, especially theirs." She added as he stood up, her voice losing the blunt tone and returning to her natural calm. "I came for some insight." Delan craned his neck round to look at her, his indignant expression not hiding how he felt at being over looked for insights.

"Anything," Remtor said. "You should also know while you're here, I took the liberty of requisitioning our lumber supplies."

"All of them?" Delan gawked. "For some toy swords?!" Remtor exhaled sharply.

"No, of course not," he uttered slowly, carefully ensuring each word formed was calm and quiet. "I used it all for towers."

"What?! Does it not occur to you that we might actually need that wood?"

"Does it not occur to you that it might be nice to have some forewarning of when we are _BEING ATTACKED_?" Remtor retorted, his façade of calm failing him.

"Delan, I need you to head back to town and fetch food and water." the Shaman said very quietly by comparison. He scowled at the hulking instructor before bowing slightly to the Shaman and stalking off. "Excellent work, Chieftain . Covering all ground entrance to our peninsula?"

"As much as possible, yes." He replied. "I have every spare body working on them so they should go up very rapidly. There will be a slight delay with those on higher ground, of course, but we already have builders hiking up there."

"Good, as you say we're going to need all the warning we can get." She turned to see how far away Delan had got, ensuring he was out of earshot. While she looked away, Remtor smiled proudly at the slightly faint looking Agar who gave an appreciative nod in response. "Okay," she started in slightly hushed tones. "The High Priestess Lithina is seeing to it that the blacksmith has all the help he needs and High Priest Greyst is rallying the clergy side of things. How goes everything here?"

"Well as you know I haven't been here long but surprisingly well, considering," he said peering out over the still training crowd as one man swung his wooden sword wildly. The three of them standing there watched as it flew from his hand and clean over their heads. "Just as well we only have wooden swords or half of them would have killed each other by now. Which for the most part is a good thing, I suppose."

"Yes, just so long as you remember to point them at the enemy before setting them loose," she said. The Chieftain smirked.

"I shall try to remember that, yes."

"Is this all who were willing to fight?" she asked.

"Oh no, these are the proper beginners." He said. "My sons spilt them up, two of them are taking care of the hunters and the other two are trying to give a bit of discipline to the folk who like a bit of a brawl. We have a surprising amount of those, as it turns out." The Shaman nodded and there was a brief pause. "Did the, err, ceremony this morning go alright?" He asked unsurely, glancing to the dressing on Agar's chest with a blood stain slowly soaking its way through.

"Yes, very smoothly." She said, throwing a glance at Agar, who shuffled uneasily on his feet. He'd always hated being the centre of attention.

"Oh calm down, boy," Remtor chuckled.

"Hmm, we'll need to get that dressing changed. Unfortunately the wound is required to be deep, so the bleeding will persist for a while I'm afraid." Remtor nodded a little before being distracted by the approach of footsteps. Delan was hurrying over, slightly red in the face and puffing away. His attempt to hide the fact that he'd hurried was not a good one. _I wonder what he thought he was missing_, Remtor contemplated.

"Your food, my Shaman," he grandly announced, presenting it in a small bag with a bow.

"Many thanks, Delan," she said kindly. "But the food is for my guard here." She could actually hear his muscles tense but also caught the raised brow of Agar. "You're already pale and off balance and you're still losing blood." He slightly begrudgingly took the bag from an extremely begrudging Delan. Remtor made a poor job of stifling a smirk. "Okay, sorry to have disturbed you Chieftain but thank you for your time. Delan, I need you to go and tell our fishing boats that we need them patrolling the water line of our land until the towers over this end are done. The main village is far too close to the water's edge to leave it unguarded. When they realize the precautions we've taken for ground attacks it'll likely be their next course of action."

Remtor nodded, smiling as Delan forced another gracious bow and hurried off again. He was impressed. She was clearly very young and until yesterday was just another villager in a tribe when war and tactic was the last thing on their minds. She was already thinking like he did, trying to understand and predict what the enemy will do.

"Exactly what I was thinking," he stated once Delan was far enough away. "They'll try the easy route first, no doubt they are going to do it very soon before we can muster a force. Turns out the numbers aren't so much the issue at this point in time but the arming."

"As I understand it our blacksmith is working non-stop but I think we may be in luck," she said slowly. "The old warrior training camp still stands, does it not? I have a feeling, I can't really explain it, but I think you should send someone to search it."

He tilted his head slightly. Of course, why hadn't he thought of that? He damn well wouldn't have gotten rid of the weapons if he'd been in charge all those years ago, so why would whoever was? No, they would be locked up safe in the compound, old and dusty. Fixing up and sharpening a few hundred swords would be a bloody sight faster than making them from scratch. It was such a forgotten and derelict place it hadn't even occurred to him. Immediately he signalled over one of the fighters. The Shaman nodded to him, went to start walking but stopped abruptly.

"Oh yes, one more thing," she added. "If Delan comes looking for me, please tell him I went back to the temple." And with that she set off to the East, the exact opposite way from the temple. Agar and Remtor caught each other's eye for a moment, both smirked, and then carried on as they were.

* * *

_Oh Gods… Oh Gods… Someone… please… anyone… just turn off the sun… or kill me… yeah, that one…_ He pulled his thick woollen blanket over his head but every motion hurt. His head was pounding furiously and the bright light of the mid afternoon sun was nigh unbearable. Even the gentle sounds of the water were like being stabbed through the ear so when an unwelcome voice broke the air he curled up further and groaned.

"Hey man… you awake?" asked a scratchy, rough voice without conviction. "S'at a yes?" they persisted as the groaning started.

"Naw man, I'm sleeping. Call back tomorrow." He muttered as he pulled the blanket tighter.

"What'd we drink last night, eh?"

"Shhh!"

"Should get up, eh? S' middle of the day." Murmured the owner of the scratchy voice, who very slowly pulled himself up, squinting at the sun. The small boat he sat in was rocked gently as he moved. It was a very still day, not even a breeze, and as a result the water was beautifully flat. He pulled a lever next to him making the bright blue sail of his boat pop out covering himself and the other small boat next to his in shade.

"Aww," came the voice from the other boat. "See man, this is why I love ya." He pulled the blanket off his face, revelling in the shade, revealing his slightly chubby face and the ragged shoulder length hair fanning out around him.

"Y'know. We should probably go and… catch some fish. Or something."

"Edvy, do you not remember? Today all the fish are asleep. They said call back tomorrow."

"Eh-hem!" Both men groaned together as the sound of someone loudly clearly their throat from the shore broke the peace.

Edvy squinted his eyes at the tall, thin man. He was dressed in very grand robes which gave Edvy that ominous feeling that they were about to receive a very official telling off. Edvy himself was dressed in a basic pair of full length trousers and an open brown waist coat over his bare chest. His face suggested he was in his late twenties, though his current sunken eyes and thick stubble made him look older, and he had a cleanly shaved head.

"Just what in the bloody Underworld do you think you two louts are doing?!" Delan howled loudly causing both men to cringe.

"We were just, uh, discussing where the best catch would likely be. Uh, sir."Edvy just about managed with considerable effort.

"You will address me as 'High Priest' and nothing else! Do you understand?!" The priest waved his hands madly as he spoke in that over exaggerated way he often does.

"Yes, High Priest," both men chimed in synchronous monotone.

"And here you two are, laying around drunkenly while the rest of us prepare for war!"

"With respect, High Priest," the other man started as he sat up creakily. "We're not drunk any more. Just hung over."

_Oh well done, Allan, _Edvy thought bitterly to himself as the High Priest before them rained down a stream of abuse, each syllable another knife turn in his head. What on earth had they done this time to draw the attention of a bloody High Priest? None of the options were good. _What have we done? We accidently set the granary on fire but that was really a minor thing and we had that totally under control. Yeah. Hmm, we also went and lost that prize ritual goat. It can't be about that, that sheep we found was pretty much a perfect replacement. Yeah, perfect. Y'know. Except for the horns. And all that wool. Ah, bugger. _

The man had finally stopped ranting and stood before them, each breath seething from him. He listened carefully as the priest, who clearly held nothing but disdain for either of them, explained their new responsibility. _Oh goody, we're the look outs. _He would have rolled his eyes if he hadn't wanted to avoid another berating.

With a last stare of daggers at the pair of them, Delan flounced off as Edvy watched. He heard a soft 'thud' to the side of him and assumed it was Allan passing out again. He was right but took a moment to cradle his throbbing head in his hands before he actually checked. With a ragged sigh, he shuffled around his small fishing boat preparing to move out. The bright sun continued to beat down and there was hardly any wind today; Edvy rolled his eyes as he realised a lot of pedalling in his future.

Grumbling in discontent he fiddled with the rigging before carefully leaning over the edge and attaching a hook on a rope to Allan's boat. Wondering whether or not Allan would actually appreciate him not leaving his drunken ass behind, Edvy towed him out to begin their look-out.

* * *

Agar sat atop the hill, happily munching away on the food Delan had brought him. It was beautiful quality where he had thought it was for the Shaman, had Delan known it was for Agar the Gods only knew what filth he would have scraped up from somewhere. The Shaman was right, food was making him feel significantly better. He watched her as he ate, pottering around down the hill. He wasn't sure what she was doing, communing with nature or something, he guessed.

As he finished he pulled his bandana back over his face and groaned as he began to stand up, being rudely reminded that his chest had recently been violated. He froze mid-rise for a moment, grimacing. The sound of the Shaman approaching made him open his eyes and force himself to move again. She was hurrying, practically running up the hill. And then he heard it. Off in the distance, war drums were beating.

"The Dakini," she said gasping as she reached him. "They come! Fetch your father, go!"

He immediately broke into a sprint, the pain in his chest suddenly a thing of the past as adrenaline shot though him. She watched as he left briefly before turning back to the direction of the drums. They would not be as ill prepared as before. She swallowed hard, she was still untrained and crude at shaping the mana within but it got worse. _She's coming_, the Shaman thought. Another shaman, experienced in both magic and war.

They could be felt through the ground now, the gentle rumble of an approaching army. The drum beats became faster the closer they grew – an old tactic for intimidating the enemy. It worked. She remained still at the top of the hill, remembering what the voices had told her. Keep the vantage point. She could see flashes of red through the trees now as they snaked their way down the old path that lead to the Centre of the World. After a few minutes that felt like an hour, she heard people approaching from behind. A _lot_ of people.

"Glad you could join me," she said, surprising herself with how calm she sounded.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Remtor replied. "Have you seen them?"

"Glimpses through the trees but nothing more." She had her eyes firmly locked on where the path left the forest's edge. "Unfortunately I think it's safe to say they won't have been foolish enough to leave their shaman home this time, however."

"No," the Chieftain exhaled sharply. "We were rather hoping you'd be able to take care of that… rapidly."

"Oh of course," she replied with no small amount of sarcasm. "I've been a shaman for a day so why shouldn't I be able to defeat the most experienced military mind and magic wielder of our time?" The moment she finished speaking she regretted saying it. It sounded so weak.

"Forgive me, Shaman." She tilted her head to look at him as he spoke. He actually looked so ashamed for suggesting it. Despite her guilt, she smiled a little behind her mask as her trust in him grew. The guilt, in a way, showed his devotion. He would not cross her. Or lie to her or keep things from her. At that point in time he was the person she trusted most in the world.

"No, I'm sorry," she quietly uttered after a moment of thought. "But I am going to need her distracted. She's going to be after me." She turned back to look at the path and felt her heart leap into her throat as she realised there was suddenly someone to her other side. Realising it was just Agar, she exhaled sharply. _Gods, he's quiet. _The path was still clear. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched as an army – her army – bowed down before her. All equipped with impressive, albeit dusty and cobwebbed, metal swords. She felt a slight wave of hope wash over her.

"So what's the plan?" Remtor cautiously asked, waiting for the enemy to appear at any moment.

"Um… right." The Shaman took a pause for a moment before continuing. "You are going to lead the main defence." Another pause. "I'm going to go hide in a tree." Another pause. Longer this time. "You aren't going to ask why?"

"I trust your judgement." The Chieftain stood tall, his usual air of confidence still hanging thickly around him. An effortless sense of authority clung to him.

"You do?" The Shaman betrayed her attempt at upholding her own guise of confidence, the sheer surprise apparent as the tone of her voice raised.

"You're going to try and take a pot shot at her, aren't you?" Remtor said calmly, turning his head slightly and glancing down at her.

"Damn, that obvious?"

"There are a lot of trees. Even if she anticipates, she can't know where you will be exactly." He hoped not anyway. He didn't know the exact powers of a shaman. No one in the village did. How could they?

"I hope you're right. If not and… and I can't get her, you need to make sure she dies as soon as possible. Or we're finished in this before we could start." She was trying to keep her voice steady but they were so close now. The tremors ran through her arms; unsure of whether it was due to nerves or the shaking ground.

"I understand. You should go, they are close." She nodded and began hurrying off to the tree line. As Agar began to set off after her, Remtor grabbed his arm. "Be careful." Agar nodded, but this didn't put his father at ease at all. It was a very rare thing that he couldn't read his son's eyes. The look he just gave Remtor could have meant anything. Anything at all. Releasing the arm, he watched as Agar sprinted off after a rapidly disappearing Shaman. He gave one long, ragged sigh, releasing all fear and doubt in his mind. Before his next inhale, his natural skin of unflappable calm had been reapplied as though it had never been gone. _I guess we'll know soon, _he thought to himself with a smile, _if we really still are the legends we supposedly once were._

* * *

Agar only just caught up with the Shaman as she ran a short way into the dense forest, the pain tearing into his chest as he ran. Before he could even catch his breath she was half way up a thick, twisted old tree. He took a stance at the bottom, shield held in one hand and sword drawn in the other. He didn't remember removing it from his belt but there it was, clamped firmly in his white knuckled hand. With each sharp intake of breath his wound became less and less noticeable as the adrenaline pumped through him. Under his bandana, he bit into his bottom lip anticipating the incoming events. He looked up to attempt to see the Shaman. She was gone, lost within the entwined branches. He snapped his head back down just in time to see a battering ram of a man clad in red charging at him, sword high and screaming a harsh battle cry.

And then they were both blinded by a flash of golden light.

* * *

After the third great flash, Remtor roared fiercely and the makeshift army in blue lurched into motion. The great army of red that had emerged from the trees stood dazed and confused. They didn't have long to piece together the events of the last few seconds before the blue wave collided with them like an avalanche. The Chieftain had seen the confusion and loss in them and seen it for the tactical advantage it was. Before they could come to their senses the Iztek were upon them.

The field of battle erupted into a single combined roar along with the deafening clang of metal. The stunned warriors of the Dakini quickly regained composure but not quickly enough to have saved themselves considerable losses. The first wave of opposing soldiers were hacked down where they stood like weeds, crumbling beneath the Iztek's fury.

Remtor headed the charge and was leading by example. He ran fearless into the enemy like a juggernaut, shouting incomprehensibly. It didn't matter what he was saying, the terrifying bellow that was his voice sent the message well enough. He swung his weapon – a gargantuan two handed blade – with the power of a hurricane and precision of a surgeon. Enemies fell like ragdolls before him bringing hope and inspiration to the new troops behind him. Like the falling of a line of dominoes, courage fanned out through the lines of warriors, strengthening their resolve.

The Dakini, finally coming to their senses, quickly identified him as a threat and began to attempt to flank and overwhelm him. However the four sons had pushed forward close by his sides, two either side, holding a strong line of defence. The more advanced recruits had pushed forward next to them giving the Iztek a full wall across the field of battle. The invaders quickly regrouped and formed their own defensive stance. They were well trained, organised and equipped but the starting advantage had giving the Iztek a lot of ground. They had two further advantages. They fought with a ferocity that defied their training, the ancient stereotype of their people apparently having lived on, dormant within throughout the peace.

That, and then there were the wasps.

* * *

The Shaman didn't really remember well the events of those missing few seconds. She remembered the flashes of light, and the rolling thunderclaps that followed. She remembered the cold flowing sensation that began to trickle through her before powering rampantly through her body. It felt as though she completely lost control in that time, like her body was a puppet to the feeling. It started the same way as the last, before suddenly cutting through her like ice. The first surge wracked her body violently as the Dakini shaman came into view. She didn't remember the jagged spear of yellow electricity that burst down from the heavens or anything after that until she dropped from the tree.

The first bolt had missed the Dakini shaman narrowly, striking a crowd of her followers, sending them flying like ragdolls through the air. The woman in red was not deterred nor did she hesitate in retaliation. Another bolt came down from the clear sky above the Iztek shaman, crashing through the old, gnarled tree next to her. It was ripped apart by the force. Flames spread quickly through the branches and the cracked trunk caused it to fall heavily into the tree the Shaman hid in. The force with which it hit shook it roughly, the Shaman had to cling tightly to the branches to stop herself from falling.

Almost immediately she began to climb higher. She needed to get a better view, a better aim. She hauled herself up, barely noticing the flames already tickling at her feet. There she was, the Red Shaman, advancing on the Iztek army. A flash of rage shot through her as the images of what that woman could do to her people whirred before her eyes. The chaos, screaming, fire and pain. _No, _she thought. _We are more than that. We have to be! We… are… MORE! _

The icy force pushed through her veins, another jolt shot from her, pulling harshly on every muscle in her body. It felt as though it would pull her apart and she screamed harshly through clenched teeth. She saw the third and final lightening spear begin its predatory decent but never saw where it landed. She was vaguely aware of the sensation of falling slowly backward before she was plunged into the abyss.

* * *

Agar had fought valiantly against the small group that had been sent to him. The Dakini must have seen him through the trees and seen him as a little threat. Fortunately for Agar, his misleading appearance has resulted in his would-be dispatchers being novices. It was however still a one verses five battle.

Agar quickly recovered from the first blinding flash, giving the opportunity to impale the first assailant with one forceful thrust through his chest. He kept moving, not pausing for even a moment, withdrawing the blade from the young man who fell slowly to his knees. It felt like time was moving in slow motion for him, as though he had all the time in the world to plan his next move while never once stopping. His speed was his advantage and to squander it would be the end of him. He strode past the falling corpse in almost a run, spinning round to bring power to his next strike. In one fluid whirl he brought the sword down to slash through the chest and down the abdomen of the second man. He heard the blade as it tore through him, heard the faint cracking in the man's throat as he tried and failed to speak.

He caught the man's eye very briefly as his eyes followed the motion of his weapon, expecting to feel remorse. He was taken back with surprised when he realised he didn't. He was doing this for a reason, a true and glorious purpose. He hadn't quite realised how zealous he was until now. His task, the protection of the Shaman, was his whole world now and because of it he felt no fear, no regret, nothing. Only righteousness.

The three men came at him, their huge, hulking figures slow and lumbering. Ducking and weaving, he easily avoided their swings. They were all caught unawares as a thick branch fell from above them, covered with fire, landing heavily on one of the Dakini men. He crumpled like paper beneath its weight and the others jumped backward in shock, snapping their head up to see the flaming tree above and the unconscious shaman falling toward them. Agar took the opportunity to thrust his sword through the gut of one of the remaining just in time to catch the shaman, the impact of which knocked him to the ground, dazing him as his head smacked against the earth.

Blinking rapidly, he was vaguely aware of the Shaman rising to her feet. He tried to lift his head but it seemed unfathomably heavy. As his head lolled from side to side he had the peculiar feeling as though he were under water. He could hear the muffled sound of the Shaman's voice utter a strange word followed by an intense buzzing sound before blackness folded over his eyes.

* * *

Remtor was unable to keep the victorious grin from his face as the screams of the Dakini filled the air. The hum of a thousand black and blue hornets hung in the atmosphere, they swarmed around the fleeing warriors in red, vehemently assaulting only them. He'd had his doubts, as they all had, but despite her lack of faith in herself the Chieftain was convinced of her power. The potency of her spells matched that of the other shamans'. _This must mean,_ thought the Chieftain, _that at least one of the Gods fights for us._ A faultless confidence flowed through him as he strode through the battlefield, his bare chest bathed in blood and none of it his own.

The few remaining Dakini warriors were either fleeing for their lives or attempting to die with honour in a hopeless battle. A part of him hoped one would be granted passage to the Overworld for such a thing. He was a firm believer in rewarding the brave and the devout, even if they were of another tribe. But was there truly honour in fighting without a chance? He hoped so. He imagined himself dying the same way. Never would he die by a blade in his back. Never would he turn and run. All or nothing. That is the way.

"That went better than expected," a calm yet cheerful voice said beside him. He snapped his head around to see the Shaman stood there, bloodied, bruised and burned yet standing tall and proud. A few hornets crawled across the skin of her arms and scurried over her mask.

"Indeed it did, Shaman. Thanks to you." He eyed the insects warily.

"Thanks to your son," she interjected swiftly. He could not for a moment keep the pride from his face. "Speaking of which, he is just beyond the threshold of the woods. He will be fine but could do with a hand back to the temple. I will see to things here."

"Yes, Shaman!" He bowed down before her as low as he could take his hulking figure, before bounding off to find Agar. So long people had called that boy a brat, a runt, a good-for-nothing regret. Never to Remtor's face but he wasn't a fool. _Look at him now, the Sacred Guard, defending the Shaman and saving the tribe! They never damn well understood! Look at him now! _

Remtor stopped suddenly as he came upon his son, unconscious just inside the woodland. He too was covered in blood and bruises and it looked as though there had been a pretty fierce fire very close to where he was now sprawled untidily. It wasn't quite the image he'd had in his mind but the five dead Dakini warriors littered around him made his current situation a little more impressive. After all he was still breathing, unlike them.

He gave the boy a slight shake to see if he would rouse before unceremoniously slinging Agar's limp form over his shoulder with one hand. Picking up the discarded sword and shield with ease in one of his bear like hands, Remtor continued to smile to himself as he headed back through the battlefield with a skip in his step.

* * *

The Shaman was already back at the temple before he arrived. _Dammit, _he thought distraughtly. _How did she get here so quickly?! _He lingered by the entrance a moment, his mind racing with excuses and apologies, before stepping inside. A glance around the side of the building had shown Remtor was already approaching; a confrontation with her had to be better than one with him. He was one of her highest ranking priests after all! She had to show him some sort of respect, some benefit of the doubt. Hadn't she?

Inside was dark and empty. Only two candles were lit right at the end and the Shaman knelt on both knees between them, facing the entrance, facing him. A shiver ran through him, her visage was haunting. She was completely unmoving, the stony faced, unblinking mask seemed to stare right through his soul. The blood that covered her did not help. _She knows, _he thought. _Oh Gods, she knows!_

"Ah, Delan, I'm glad you're here," her gentle voice rang out through the cavernous room. "Come here." He stayed a moment to try and swallow the lump in his throat, finally giving up and cautiously walking the long isle to her. He heard Remtor enter behind him but convinced himself the Chieftain would never dare confront him before the Shaman. As he reached her he gave a small bow before standing awkwardly in front of her like a naughty child.

"My Shaman, I-" he began sheepishly, his lip trembling ever so slightly. He stopped as Remtor stepped into place beside him, Agar's unconscious form draped over his shoulder, and dropped to his knees.

"Yes, thank you Delan for taking care of the coast during the battle, it would have been the perfect time for an ambush from sea."

"Uuuhh…" Delan furrowed his brow for a moment before what she said actually sunk in. He felt the relief wash over him so quickly he began to feel lightheaded. "Anything for the tribe, my Shaman." He said grandly, with no bravado spared.

"Right," she replied blankly. "I would ask you go and help organise the wounded."

"At once!" He said, giving a low bow accompanied by a rather unnecessary flourish of his hands before striding off feeling very pleased with himself. Things had worked out very well; he doubted he could have planned it better. As he exited the temple, he could not help but grin. _And they never suspected a thing…_ he thought.


	6. Section 1 Chapter 5

**Section 1: The Ending**

**Chapter 5 - His Revelations**

"Stick him down over there," the Shaman said bluntly and irritably to Remtor. She continued on as he gently laid Agar down at the side of the room. "I will take care of him in a moment, but we must speak before the rest return." The Chieftain raised his brow in slight confusion. She had seemed so pleased only moments ago.

"Yes, Shaman?" he asked, returning to his bowed position.

"Get up," she snapped, raising herself to her feet. He followed suit and even with her stood on the slight platform he towered over her. "From this moment onward you are to tell that man nothing." To say he was taken aback would have been an understatement.

"What's happened?" he asked cautiously.

"I don't know. I don't know if anything has happened. I have no reason to suspect him of anything, with the possible exception of the relief I just saw in his face when I thanked him. I never saw him at all up at the battle. When I suggested he may have had a legitimate reason for not being there he looked as though I'd just saved his life. I can't shake this feeling that he was up to something."

"It is possible he didn't want you to call him up for being a coward." Remtor replied, hardly believing the words coming out of his mouth. Why would he defend that rat? _You know why, _he thought to himself. _Because despite how much of a power hungry back stabber he is, he would never do something that would truly endanger the tribe. He wouldn't. He couldn't._

"Perhaps you are right," she admitted with a soft sigh, her voice calming again. "I still don't like it. You are still running this tribe and I don't want him knowing what's going on. Lie through your teeth if you have to." He couldn't help but smirk a little.

"Yes, Shaman." He said as he noticed her mask subtly turn to where Agar lay unconscious.

"You were indeed correct, Chieftain. He was a good choice." That proud glow returned to his chest as she moved away from his to tend the boy.

"How is he?"

"A little beaten up but he'll be fine. He was doing rather well until I fell on him from that tree. Bashed him out cold. I should be able to fix it though."

"I have every faith you can."

The Shaman merely grunted quietly in return. _Yes, yes,_ she thought sarcastically. _Everyone has faith in me. _She ran an eye over Agar again. She didn't know how but she could see where his body cried out in pain. Like a burning sensation, the wounds and breaks were like fire in her eyes. The Gods were fusing with her. That was her best guess as to what was happening. Of course, she didn't know for sure. Communication was a very loose term for what was occurring. So far it was all feelings and impulses. They were however getting stronger.

She stared down at him, a faint smile on her face beneath the expressionless mask. She couldn't get used to it, the bizarre feeling that he had fought what to many would have been a hopeless battle to protect her. Even as he was now, it made her feel safe to have someone of such passion and ability dedicating his self to her protection. Though she also felt a twang of guilt as her eyes ran over his bloodied, unconscious body. It was her fault he ended up like this. Holding her hands over him, she closed her eyes and exhaled gently as she allowed that cold flow return to her. She was unsure of how much time passed, she suddenly became light-headed and she felt as though her body was being pulled in circles. She opened her mouth and felt some of her very life force being pulled from her.

* * *

Pain suddenly shot through him, every part of him ached as he was jolted to consciousness. He tried to move but the introduction of new sharp pains made him think better of it. Laying still, he very slowly opened his eyes, wincing at the pain of the light caused to him. With fuzzy vision he could make out the presence of someone leaning over him, but that was about it. There were only two options; it was either someone from the Iztek or someone from another tribe. Deciding not to worry about it, he closed his eyes again. If it was someone from the tribe he was fortunate enough to have help. If it was someone from another then this situation, or any other ever again, would not be a problem he'd have to worry about for long. So why bother? _I fought I good fight, I like to think, _he reasoned. _I did my job, I think. It happened quite fast but I'm pretty sure I did._

"Are you with us, son?" he heard the deep rumble of his father's voice ask. _Ah, I'm not going to die. Wonderful._

He opened his eyes again to see the fuzzy figure above him moving away and another, far larger figure take its place. Blink, blink. The figure became slightly more clear. Blink, bink. _Ah, hello Father. _His vision rapidly returning to him, he could see his father's arm reaching down to him and brought his own up to meet it, biting his lip through the pain, and clasped Remtor's wrist. He was almost sick from the agony of his father lifting him up one handedly with ease to his feet.

"Hmm, maybe he should lie back down," a soft female voice asked. _The Shaman, _he quickly deduced. _Dammit, I must look so weak to her! _"He looks very pale."

Sharing the Chieftain's gift of stubbornness, he instantly straightened himself up, ignoring the angry screams of his aching body. Forcing his eyes into focus caused more issues with his balance than he had foreseen but managed to hide it well. They were both peering at him and all he could feel was embarrassment. _Wonderful. First day on the job and already had to be carried home by 'daddy'. Terrific. Delan's going to eat this up. _

"Nah, he's fine. See? Hardly swaying at all anymore. Right, boy?" Remtor was smiling at him expectantly. He was wearing that well known expression of his that said no was not an option. Agar gave an unenthusiastic half nod; it was all he could realistically muster whilst staying upright.

"Well, at least sit down," the Shaman insisted. "We won't be going anywhere for a while."

With a sigh of relief he leaned back against the wall behind him and slid down it into a seated position. Within seconds his eyes had involuntarily closed over and his shallow straggled breathing slowed into the long, deep breaths of sleep. Both the Shaman and the Chieftain looked at each other and smiled. Remtor never saw hers but he knew it was there nonetheless.

His chest was warm with a father's pride again. His other sons were all accomplished folk, respected and successful. Agar was the only wildcard. Being told "four out of five's not bad" by various friends was not comforting. He'd always felt guilty about what he'd done, wondered how his life would have been different if it had never happened at all. Outspoken and strong like his brothers rather than tiny and withdrawn. But no, his doubts were unfounded. He had done the right thing and Agar, despite everything, was even more the warrior than anyone he'd ever met. Even balancing on the edge of consciousness he was forcing himself to push on, desperately trying to not show weakness. No, he would succeed.

His attention was caught as he heard the Shaman sighing deeply. Her mind had left the exhausted guard before her and moved forward, whirring with questions. Remtor peered at her curiously.

"I can't help but wonder why they have come now," she finally said. "It's been centuries. They have all the land and resources they need. What do we have that they could possibly want?"

"Perhaps they want to avenge the shame of their ancestors." Remtor suggested, rubbing his brow. "Though what shame can be undone by sending an army against a peaceful tribe is beyond me."

"No, you're right," the Shaman said, exhaling deeply. "Such an act is naught but the opposite. There must be another reason."

"Perhaps the Sacred Book may have the answers we do not?"

Her head lifted hopefully. _Of course, _she thought. _Why didn't I think of it before? _She tapped her fingernails pensively on the chin of her mask, listening to the hollow echo it caused.

"You're right. I will start looking-" she began before.

"And remember to have some rest." Remtor added hastily, cutting her off mid-sentence. "We need you stronger than any of us." He looked slightly sheepish; his actions were out of line and knew it. It needed said however, if she was anything like he thought she was. She replied with a simple nod. He bowed lowly and left, he was finally feeling himself beginning to sag after the long day it had been. Just a few errands stood between him and sleep, and for once he was well aware it was required.

* * *

Greyst had bid goodnight to Lithina and the other priests before sneaking off into the rapidly falling night-time. The air was still warm from the hot day it had been, his nerves still buzzing from the excitements of the day. With every step he could feel the worries and the fears being washed away however. Every step, every crunch of the sweet grass beneath his feet, every dimly lit hut he passed let him know he grew closer.

He couldn't help but smile with a sense of freedom as he stepped without the boundaries of the village, beginning his trek up one of the nearby hill ranges. The walk seemed longer and longer the older he got but still he came. He couldn't help it; there are some things that simply should not be ignored, some things that would always be worth the trouble no matter what the trouble was. He disappeared into the night, slipping between the trees, each step calming his mind, putting his soul at ease. After about fifteen minutes of weaving through the trees he saw that which he sought.

A particularly run down looking hut was before him, nestled tightly in the thicket. A smile broke onto his weathered, old face as he saw a light from the windows beckoning him forward. Slowly, he approached the hut, held together with uneven and poorly affixed planks of wood, so poor in fact that beams of light could be seen escaping through the very cracks in the walls. The thatch overhead was damp and old and far more moss than the straw it had once been. He gave the exterior one last glance as a whole before approaching the door, a single plank leaning against a hole in the wall, and smiled. This was his paradise.

Gently lifting the plank away, he entered backwards to that he could replace the door once he was through, making his stoop ever more noticeable. As he did so, he heard someone behind him move. Their footsteps made the shoddy floor creak and groan and he felt the same jolt of excitement he did discovering life as a teenage boy all those years ago. He turned to face them, his face bursting into a joyful smile.

Before him stood an elderly woman, possibly even older than he. Long, gray hair was braided on either side of her wrinkled face and when she smiled up at him she bared her discoloured, crooked teeth. But the signs of her age meant nothing to Greyst. When she smiled, he could see her heart, a smile of pure peace and joy. Her mind was one not concerned with the selfish needs to the rest of the world, she cared only for the here and now and enjoying every moment the Gods gave her. She had the skin and the frame of an old and weak woman but she had the eyes of a hopeful youth, peering out past the crow's feet and the discolouration of age, even now life meant more to her than it ever did to most of the people he met. And he loved her for that.

"Good evening, m'dear," she said cheerfully, defying her hoarse voice. "I 'ope you've got your game 'ead on th' night, I'm feeling lucky, I is!" She tottered slowly to a table behind her where she had set up some sort of checkered game board, the intricate carved wood pieces all laid out ready and waiting. He chuckled heartily, moving to sit opposite her, sighing with relief at the chance to rest his old bones.

"Oh ho, we'll see about that!" he retorted, rubbing his hands together. They both laughed together and leant forward to share a gentle kiss before starting the game.

* * *

Delan's hands were trembling as he unfolded the letter, peering about himself like a nervous rodent. So bold he was when he came up with his master plan but now he felt regret in the form of a lump in the throat, so prominent he could barely breathe. Beneath it all, he really was just a coward. The fear of getting caught was such a stifling weight on his shoulders his whole body quaked. The thick parchment was rattling in his hands as his nervous eyes scanned over it.

A shiver ran through his body. It was now the dead of night and the heat of the day had long since dissipated. A chill was in the damp air and there was a light breeze causing the occasional rustle of leaves to accompany the crackling of his torch, the flames of which were the only respite against the cold. These aside, the night was silent. He was listening carefully in case he was being followed but he had been careful, not lighting his torch until he was well into the path to the Centre of the World. They wouldn't be able to see the light through the dense trees. They wouldn't. Of course they wouldn't.

He pushed his paranoia aside as he held the torch to the letter, trying to focus and remember every detail. He couldn't take it back with him. If he was found with it, that would be the end of him. He knelt down slowly as he read, carefully taking in the words. While reading he gave the hidden cache a quick knock, causing it to fall closed, the mossy cover making it fall practically invisible among the other foliage. With a faint and cautious smile, his eyes darted along the lines of text, the further he got the larger his dark smile grew. He gave the letter a nod, barely able to contain himself and held it to the torch, watching as the rich green text was scorched away into nothing.

* * *

The Shaman rubbed her tired eyes as she read from the book. It had been hours. She had long since pulled across the silk cover and removed her mask, the heavy thing had not been helping her concentration any. Her aching body cried out for sleep but there was so much in this book she had to know. She couldn't believe the things that the ancestors had left to be forgotten.

Her attention was snatched as she heard someone stir in the main chamber of the temple. Her heart leapt for a moment before she remembered Agar had passed out in there, clearly injured and unwell but far too stubborn to admit it. She replaced her mask, her neck protesting as she did so, and peered out to where her Guard still sat. The poor young man looked as though he'd been through the Underworld and back. Matted, blood soaked hair was stuck to his forehead and heavy dark rings encircled his eyes. His torso was covered in scratches, bruises and dried blood. A strained, scratchy exhale emanated from him as he attempted to pull himself up a little from his slump, she watched as he remained oblivious to her.

After a few moments of struggle he managed to pull himself to his feet and he peered around the room as though trying to figure out where he was. As he slowly scanned the room his eyes landed on the Shaman, her mask peeking around the corner of the cloth partition. He froze, unsure of what to do. Tired and groggy, his mind wasn't up to figuring such things out. An awkward moment or two passed before she finally beckoned him over. After what looked like significant effort to pull himself away from the wall, he slowly - and without ease- brought himself before the Shaman, standing as at as close to attention as he could muster, thought the slight sag in his shoulders was evident.

"Please, sit," she said gently as she got up to tie the silk screen back so they could see each other. He quickly set himself down while she was distracted in the hopes that she wouldn't see how much of an endeavour it was. He was a little nervous, still very new to this and he had no idea what she wanted with him. In the ceremonial area she had been sat in the old chest was open and a very large old tome was laid open. Her staff was laid across the hooks on the wall across from him, back in its old place for safe keeping. When she was done she sat behind the book and returned her attention to it without giving Agar a second look. It was another few minutes before she said anything else.

She didn't know quite why she had beckoned him over. It would have made more sense for her to make him sleep more. He needed it. But it was the first real time they had been alone though and she wanted to at least try to get to know him a little. Plus with how she was feeling it was at least nice to have someone there to talk to about what she was reading, forcing her to take it in a bit better, she reasoned to herself.

"The things that are in the book… it's just astounding." Her voice had a bemused quality to it but he enjoyed listening to her, he had realised. It had a very calming effect on him, despite the intimidating appearance of the expressionless mask. After the revelations of his father and the events since, he needed a calming influence from somewhere. "It speaks of the Vault and its significance."

Agar tilted his head slightly. The great Vault was an enigma to everyone in the tribe, its ancient purpose long lost to time and contradicting stories. All that was known was that it was a place of unfathomable Holy importance and that no tribesperson may enter there. The punishment for any who tried was death, their soul cast to the Underworld. This was about all the Holy book said about it. The Sacred Book however was another matter entirely.

"It was a gift from the Gods. One for each tribe…" she said, running her finger along the page. She took a pause to look up at him, ice running down his spine as she did so. That terrifying gaze felt so judgemental and scrutinizing upon him. Exhaling a long and unsteady breath, his whole body un-tensed a little as she looked back to the book.

"It seems to be mentioned as part of some 'Game', though it's quite hard to make out. The language of old seems to be somewhat metaphorical. This simply cannot be literally." The tapping of her fingernails on the chin of her wooden mask was the only sound for a moment or two. Agar's brow furrowed in thought as he silently contemplated what he was hearing.

Both their attentions were snatched as they heard someone entering, Agar immediately jumping to his feet despite his body's complaint. A wave of relief washed over him as he realised it was just the High Priestess. He was in no position to be defending the Shaman in his state and he knew it. Behind him, the Shaman beckoned her forward. As she approached, Agar moved to the side to let her pass, standing to attention and watching the door with keen eyes. The jolt of adrenaline had given him a short burst of life and the shock meant he didn't feel like having his guard down.

"Forgive my intrusion, Shaman," Lithina said quietly, standing before the Shaman.

"There is no intrusion, Priestess," she replied gently. "Is anything the matter? It's quite late, I would have thought you'd be tired after everything that has happened today."

"Likewise," Lithina shot back immediately with a friendly smirk. "Actually-"

She was cut short as Delan burst into temple ungraciously and strode down the central isle, a pristine copy of the Holy Book tucked under his arm. Lithina furrowed her own tired brow slightly at the smug smile on his face. She could tell just from that smirk that he had something and after all the setbacks he'd recently encountered it must have been something good to get him in this bright a mood. He didn't even turn his head to glare at Agar, something quite unheard of.

"Honourable Shaman!" He exclaimed grandly, bowing lowly before her. She returned his gesture with a brief nod of her head. _Doesn't anyone in this tribe sleep anymore? _she thought to herself. "I took the liberty of going through some of the old texts, looking for the some of the more rusty traditions and etiquette and whatnot."

"How thoughtful of you," she replied softly. It sounded sincere enough but made Agar smirk slightly behind his bandana.

"I managed to find one or two important odds and ends; I've bookmarked the relevant pages for your perusal." He handed his pristine book to the Shaman and she took it with another nod, noting how it looked like the least read book in all the world.

"I'll have a look over them, thank you Delan." His triumphant smile widened and he bowed lowly again, before turning to leave, this time taking the time to flash a knowing grin at Agar.

_Oh, that can't be good,_ he thought, sighing softly as he watched the lanky man strode away with almost a skip in his step. He fought the urge to turn and look at the Shaman and Priestess, keeping his eyes locked forward. He fought the urge to think about his father and his brothers, to let himself get wound up and angry here. He fought the urge to pass out again, be shrouded again in the comforting darkness of unconsciousness. He could think of a whole list of things he desperately wanted to forget but nothing he could think of would push them away.

"I'm sorry, Priestess, what was it you were saying?" The Shaman's serene tones rang out. Agar exhaled gently and allowed himself another small smile beneath the privacy of his mask. Something to think about, that calming sound.

"It's not essential, it can wait of course." Lithina began. "I was merely wishing to inquire about the Vault." There was a moment of silence. Agar never noticed, he was in a world of his own now. "The Vault of Knowledge."

"Ah, yes. I was just reading about it actually," the Shaman replied. "What was it you wanted to know?" She asked inquisitively, tilting her head to the side a little.

"I was wondering whether or not you had been inside." Her tone was blunt and to the point, and the Shaman appreciated that.

"No, not yet," the Shaman answered, laying the book Delan gave her down to her side and began to stand. "The text on it is vague to say the least. I was actually planning on going there now."

"Perhaps you should get some sleep first? It has been a long, long day."

"I'll never sleep while this is spinning around in my head," she replied quickly. "I have to know what this is about, I can't help but think the Vault has answers as to why the Dakini want to enslave us all of a sudden. Peace for hundreds of years and out of nowhere this? I just want an answer."

"Yes, I know how you feel," Lithina lowered her eyes a little as she spoke, a little ashamed that this was how she had hoped the Shaman would answer. "I will accompany you, if you wish?"

"Only if you feel you don't need to sleep."

"Like you, I think the truth will help me sleep." Lithina's smile looked quite forlorn.

"Very well then," said the Shaman, reaching back to pull her staff from the wall. Agar leaned down to pick up his shield, hissing at little in pain as he did so. "Not you," he heard the Shaman's voice say behind him. He turned with a confused furrow of his brow. "You are my guard yes, but that is low on your list of priorities," she added before he could protest. "To obey my every command is the highest. Get some rest."

He frowned discontentedly at her but nodded begrudgingly. As little as he liked the idea, she was right and there was no chance he was going to argue with her. The last thing he wanted to do was dishonour his bloodline with disobedience. Yes, he'd been in trouble before but brawling and mischief were a long way off defying a shaman. Certain crimes didn't just smear your soul but your blood and the souls of all who shared it. It is a shared belief between the tribes that blood relatives literally have the same blood. One's blood was a mixture of their father's and their mother's blood, carrying both lines within them. To the truly devout, the very thought of bringing this down upon your family was terrifying.

He merely stood and watched as they turned and left, his hands clenched and white knuckled by his sides, the frustrations of the day finally catching up with him. He hated feeling so powerless, so impotent. He paced up and down a few times, he would have been growling if he had the capacity to. Sometimes he just wanted to scream and the frustration only built up in him more because he couldn't release it. Even as frustrated as he was, he still had the common sense to not start punching the walls of the temple or to run off into the night. No, he would act like a real warrior would. He would remain calm, he would follow orders. He would be worthy.

Slowly he could feel his blood pressure going down. He was concentrating carefully to calm his breathing and little by little it was working. He moved back against the wall and sat for a moment, staring into space thinking through everything again. Thinking through who he was and who he wanted to be. He could hear Remtor's voice in his head. _"Do your duty, make me proud."_

_I will Father, _he thought. _I will honour the position. I won't be your mistake anymore._

* * *

The crispness of the cool night was a pleasant contrast to the rest of the day. The Vault was a very short walk from the temple, mere minutes and the light from the Vault itself beckoned them through the sleeping village. It was just north of the town, nestled in the edge of the forest. It was a huge, imposing structure and, before the emergence of the Reincarnation Site was the most holy ground known to the Iztek.

The structure was far older than anyone knew, the stories said it was created by the Gods when they first created life on this world. It is said in the Holy Book, that the very first Shaman was created within it back at the very dawn of humanity. The state of the dark rock it was crafted from reflected this, stained, weathered and covered in lichen and moss. It was the shape of a square based pyramid, each edge about five metres in length, and stretched up to a height at least six times the height of even the tallest of the tribe. A huge stone slab marked the entrance, sealing it tightly, with the Shaman's Eye carved deeply into its surface. The look of the Vault was not the most haunting thing about it however, despite the dark and looming nature of it. It was the fire.

On each edge of the structure, leading up to the top, rows of lit braziers burn brightly, three on each edge and in perfect alignment. A final one sat atop the tower, far larger than its counterparts and surrounded by almost claw like stone tendrils cupping around it. The fires had never had to be relit. They had never been fed with wood. They had never extinguished. They just burned with an eerie permanence.

Lithina peered up as she approached and was filled with the same awe and confusion she always felt when she came here. How could anyone possibly look up at this and be anything but devout? How could anyone not believe in or fear the Gods when they saw this eternal presence. If the Gods had ever truly abandoned them, these flames would have died long ago.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" The Shaman said dreamily, her mind wandering away with the sight before her, the only other sound on this still night was the sound of the crackling fires.

"Well, terrifying," Lithina said with a thin smile on her lips. "But inspiring." They both stood basking in the sight and the silence for a moment.

"Yes," the Shaman finally said. "Even through all the years without them, this always proved that the Gods were still with us." Lithina nodded. "Burning brightly and unfaltering for all these years."

"Actually," Lithina began, tilting her head off to the shoreline as she heard a subtle rustling. "There was once that it faltered."

"Oh? Do tell, was this before my time?"

"Yes, and mine." She returned her gaze to the Shaman. She must have been imagining things. "This was before High Priest Greyst first rose to his current position. Apparently it was very odd, the fires had begun to die down and it got progressively worse for a good few years. The fires were said to have barely any life left in them at all and the whole tribe was fearing they would finally die. But Greyst was without fear and without doubt and stepped forward to become a High Priest in a time when people doubted. They say the night of his ceremonies they had the customary grand celebration for the new High Priest and when the tribe awoke the next day the fires were burning brightly and strongly and have remained so ever since."

"Really?" the Shaman said in surprise. "I've never heard of this."

"It was a long time ago, and Greyst never wants to speak of it – strange in itself really when of all people looking for miracles he's right at the top of the list." She rubbed her chin thoughtfully and they both simultaneously looked over toward the shoreline as though they had heard something in the darkness. A crow fluttered away from the vault in the direction of the temple, apparently disrupted by their callous disregard for its sleep. "No, it seems to be a story mainly among the elders but enough of them agree on it for me to not question is validity."

"How bizarre- did you hear that?" They both took a few steps toward the shoreline.

With the light of the tower against their backs, the darkness they peered into began to fade slightly as their eyes adjusted. And finally they saw it.

They saw it, just a second too late.

* * *

"I really don't think we should be sleeping," Edvy said unsurely, peering over into Allan's boat, where he was hidden beneath his blanket. The pair were tied in at the shore, the bright fire of the Vault of Knowledge burning out in the distance before them.

"We're not sleeping," Allan replied in a snarky tone. "I'm _trying_ to sleep and you are clearly trying out for the town's number one "Pain in the Ass" award. Congratulations by the way, what is this, the fifteenth consecutive year?"

"Okay, well for starters I'm pretty sure I was more annoying when I was ten than I am now, thank y'very much," Edvy snapped in retort. "And second we were told to _guard_. If there's no one come to relieve us, we shouldn't be bloody stopping! Night is the perfect time for 'em to come!"

"Really, Mister Tactician?" Allan replied, taking particular care to draw out each syllable, applying as much sarcasm as physically possibly to every sound. "What, pray tell, makes you say that?"

"Well…" Edvy began to say hesitantly. "Because… y'know..it's like.. dark. And we can't really see 'em. So they can like, get the element of surprise… or … something."

"Oh is that so, Commander?" Allan began, finally sitting up and grabbing Edvy's lantern pulling it closer to his face, his messy hair falling to either side like curtains. "Let's think about this shall we? If it's dark enough that we can't see them, how are we supposed to be on the lookout for them? And another thing! If it's so dark that we can't see them, it's also so dark that _they_ can't see _us_. Really man, is that a head or a melon?"

"Uuh..uh-!" Edvy tried to say, as Allan carried on.

"Plus, do you really think they'd expect us to be doing this all bloody day without a break or nothing!?" Edvy continued trying to speak as Allan ranted on, raising his hand to point one feeble finger over Allan's shoulder. "I mean, sure it's nice to be a team player and everything but really we are carrying the- what is your problem?!"

"Uuuuh!" Edvy replied. Allan turned around with the lantern and felt his heart hit the bottom of his stomach as he did so. Behind him another, empty boat lit up as the lantern was moved closer. An empty boat… with orange sails.

"Oooooooh, shit."

* * *

The three men came out of the darkness, lunging suddenly forward as they knew they had been spotted. The first took the element of surprise to smash Lithina in the face with his shield sending her crashing to the ground and the second man thrust his sword into the Shaman's abdomen before she had a chance to react.

Much to her surprise the first sensation she felt wasn't pain. It wasn't fear. It was rage.

"Taka!" Her voice turned harsh and throaty as she spat the magical word, throwing her empty hand forward as it filled with flame and launched a ball of fire into his face. She fell backwards and as the sword the left her pain finally hit, the sharp screaming pain ran both hot and cold through her body.

The second man screamed hysterically as he tried to put out the flames on his face, only succeeding in lighting his hands as well. He dropped to the ground and began writhing in pain as the fire spread over him. The third man had already started pulling off his loose shirt as he was falling, patting harshly over his burning friend in an attempt to put him out. As he was desperately trying to put out the fire he was suddenly pulled upward as a thick rope garrotte was pulled tightly around his neck.

The first man, who had been advancing on Lithina, suddenly screamed in agony as huge meat hook came over his shoulder, dug into his flesh and pulled him harshly backward causing it to rip right through his back and drag him to the ground. Before he had any chance to react Allan was kneeling on his chest and punching him repeatedly in the face, sending his blood spraying over the pair of them.

"Attack!" Lithina screamed as she scrambled to her feet, blood running freely out of her broken nose and split lip. The sound of help on its way suddenly filled the air and she rushed to the side of the Shaman who was laying very still, clasping her hand in her own.

The man Edvy was garrotting suddenly was filled with last desperate burst of strength, flipping Edvy over his back and causing him to land heavily on the ground, knocking the wind out of him. The intruder only needed a moment to catch his breath before he brought his foot down heavily on Edvy's face, feeling his nose crunch into the heel of his foot. Lifting his foot for another go, he had underestimated Edvy's recovery time and his ankle was grabbed and pulled out from underneath him. He managed to get up in the time it took for his assailant to fall but realised very quickly he was no longer needed.

They were surrounded by a very large circle of Iztek warriors, all with blades at the ready. As his eyes stopped watering from his recently broken nose he could see Allan grinning with delight at the situation and the High Priestess seeing to the Shaman, all the while these very angry warriors were looking at the three invaders. He glanced over them, one was severely burned and appeared to be dead. Another had Allan's shark hook still all the way through his shoulder. Edvy winced a little at that. On closer inspection he saw the standard they carried, hanging from their trousers. Orange, to match the boat. The Chumara.

They all turned slightly as they heard Lithina gasp and stepped back as they saw the Shaman's body glow with energy. Suddenly her body seemed to almost disintegrate, crumbling into small glowing particles that began to draft slowly upward, like beautiful turquoise fireflies, gracefully rising to the heavens as they watched in stunned silence.

"She's gone." Lithina breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper.

* * *

Remtor burst into the temple with a fire in his eyes. He stormed across the main hall and grabbed Agar's sleeping form by the arm, yanking him up roughly. Gripping his other arm, the Chieftain slammed Agar against the wall with such force it caused the whole structure to shudder slightly, he held him against it at his own eye level causing his son's feet to dangle helplessly above the ground. Agar, now extremely awake, stared with fear into his father's enraged eyes, hopelessly confused, only aware of his very sudden wake up and the crushing pain in his upper arms, where Remtor held him with his vice like grip.

"Just what in Senek's name do you think you're doing?" the Chieftain roared into his face, referencing Senek, God of Shame, a member of the Court of the Underworld. Agar only had a brief moment to continue to peer in confusion at his father before he continued. "The Shaman is dead." Agar was too stunned to respond for a few moments, he could just stare wide eyed and shocked into Remtor's eyes. He had only half a second for the crashing wave of failure to start hitting him before Remtor began again. "You should have been with her!"

Agar's brain was barely able to comprehend what was happening. _No, no that's not right, _he thought. _No, I was doing what I was meant to. I was doing it for you, dammit! _Agar's face began to twist in anger as these realisations came to light. _She _ordered _me to stay, I had no choice._ Remtor saw the change in his face and was taken aback with surprise for a brief moment. His eyes then darkened from their heightened rage to take on a somewhat more sinister calm. The type of calm that falls before the storm.

"Listen, boy," he said, his voice wavering as he held back his anger, leaning slightly closer to his face. "Don't dare give me those defiant eyes. You've managed to shoot them at damn near everyone in this tribe but not at me." It was true, the well-known tearaway child had a pretty fine reputation for not fearing anyone and always standing up for himself. Right up until the moment his father arrived at any given scene, when he would fold like paper. Agar's face softened for a moment, the fear cracking through little by little before suddenly hardening again, his expression more fierce than before.

_No, you don't scare me today, Father, _he thought, glaring at the Chieftain in a sort of unspoken staring contest, their icy gazes boring into each other's unblinking eyes. _Because today, I'm bloody RIGHT!_

And he won. His father was the first to look away, tearing his eyes from his son and scrunching his face as though he were a stench. Without looking back he simply let go of Agar, allowing him to drop to the ground. Agar made every effort to make this look as painless as possible though it was quite the challenge and it took all his will power not to rub his arms where the giant figure had manhandled him. He snatched up his sword and shield and stormed out, never even thinking of looking back.

Remtor leaned his head against the wall and thumped his fist against it once, exhaling bitterly. Had he over reacted? Was there more to this? The doubts raced through his head for a moment before he couldn't help but be reminded of all the things people would say about that boy. It truly enraged him. The thought of them being proven right made him seethe with rage. He'd always thought Agar was better than that, despite it all.

After a moment to regain his composure, he gave a final disappointed sigh and went to leave. As he pushed through the entrance way, he saw something that made him stop in his tracks. The first thing, including the new Shaman and the attacks and everything, that truly made him speechless. In the dirt outside the temple, someone had crudely written the words:

'**I don't answer to you anymore**.'

He looked up, already knowing what he would see. And there, just on the edge of darkness the small shape of Agar could be seen, knelt low in prayer by the Reincarnation Site. His allegiances have changed. As they should have. Curling his lip in annoyance, he couldn't decide whether it was Agar or himself he was more angry with. With a shake of his head, he quietly walked away to deal with the rest of the mess this night had caused.

* * *

The Shaman wasn't aware of anything other than her own screaming as pain burned through her abdomen and searing white light blasted into her eyes. She didn't know how long this limbo of agonising pain lasted but it felt like hours. It stopped abruptly as she felt herself fall heavily onto a cold, hard floor. She lay gasping for breath for a few moments, trying to let her body and mind catch up with what was going on. As she did so she was slowly becoming more aware of her surroundings. The hairs on her skin had pricked up from the cool, crisp air. The floor on which she lay was incredibly flat and smooth and almost like ice to touch. She was surrounded by absolute silence. When she felt she had calmed down enough, she gingerly peeled back her eyelids to gaze around her, only to become breathless again at what she saw.

She was laying on a pristine white marble floor that seemed to meet with the very night sky itself. She slowly brought herself to her feet to look up at the black abyss above her, its vastness only accentuated by the billions of crystal clear stars that glittered all around her. They were the only light source here and as such their immeasurable beauty was on full display. She felt so small here; she was nothing but a fleck on this tremendous canvas. A blemish among this perfection. She brought her eyes back to the platform she stood upon. It was a perfect circle, bordered by a small, knee high wall of what looked like cloud. The Shaman walked cautiously over to it and put her hand to it. Much to her surprise it was solid; it felt like one of the feather filled cushions of the High Priests sanctum only far softer.

"Having fun?" a shrill woman's voice rang out, deafening by comparison to the previous silence. The Shaman almost jumped out of her skin, immediately straitening and turning to address the stranger. It was a very tall and imposing looking woman who stood exuding confidence and elegance. She was dressed in a full length dress that, much like the Shaman's, tied around the neck to leave the back and shoulders bare. It was spotlessly white in colour and shimmered slightly in the star-light. Black hair was expertly styled to sit atop her head neatly.

"I could be having more," the Shaman replied boldly. "I am dead after all, aren't I?"

"Oh, very good!" the woman exclaimed, clasping her hands together excitedly. "You're far cleverer than the other girls; it took them so long to figure out where they were."

"I never said I knew where I was." She answered quickly, eyeing the strange woman with suspicion through the eyes of her mask. "Though is this truly where I think this is?"

"I suspect so." She said, a small smile playing on her thin lips. "Welcome to the Overworld, Azura." The Shaman was taken aback in awe for a moment. The real Overworld.

"I can't belie-" But she stopped abruptly. "Wait, A-Azura?"

"Yes," the woman replied with an amused smirk. "You've forgotten your own name?"

She didn't answer. She'd known her memories were fuzzy but she just put it down to the stress, never having time to sit and figure things out. But the more she tried and tried she found it harder to remember anything at all. Her name, her family. _Who am I? _Her attention was snatched by the woman chuckling gently.

"Forgive me, I forget how confusing it is for you at first. It has been quite some time since we have had a new shaman of any of the tribes. Though to have one from your tribe is most surprising."

"None more surprised than us, let me assure you." She replied, trying to keep the confusion from her voice. "And may inquire as to who you are?" The woman released an almost cackle-like laugh.

"Oh, my word, you do amuse me, Azura." She took a few steps closer to the Shaman, her wood soled sandals loudly clunking against the floor. "I am Natina." Azura's voice caught in her throat. "Yes, that Natina. I'm quite shocked by your surprise, honestly, next you'll be telling me you don't know of The Game."

"Uh..." The Shaman tried. Natina, the Goddess of Fertility, raised a brow at her. "I was actually trying to learn of this 'Game' when I died."

"Of course," Natina said, the realization suddenly showing in her face. "It is so easy to forget that your tribe has lost the knowledge it once had. Fear not, it will return. Though I can tell, you wish to know why you fight. And I shall tell you."

"No," a voice suddenly interjected. "I will tell her."

The two of them turned to see a man appear through a wisp of cloud. He matched Natina's height and while he did not have the raw brawny structure of the men of her kind, his figure was enough to be quite striking. He wore loose, plain clothing the colour of burlap and had poker straight dark hair that reached the full length of his back. Natina eyed him warily and Azura noted her distrustful expression.

"How very bold of you. Do, come in," the elegant goddess uttered.

"I was planning on it, thank you Natina," he replied arrogantly. Her eyes narrowed. _Oh brilliant, _the Shaman thought. _A celestial version of Delan._

"Do not forget your status, Treshnar," she said, her tone cool yet stern. He seemed to bite back a little, as though he knew he'd crossed some sort of line. Azura eyed him carefully, she didn't recognise the name.

"I thought you weren't interested in The Game?" He said, changing the subject rapidly.

"Well you have made it more interesting, haven't you?" she retorted sharply. "And besides, it's not your silly Game I'm interested in. More the people."

"You mean the insects." He said matter-of-factly.

"It really makes me smile that you insist on calling them that, given your circumstances." His eyes flared with anger for a brief moment, much to Natina's amusement. "Why don't you just tell Azura here what she needs to know, and spare us your pomp." He took a moment to maintain his glare a few seconds longer before peering out to the stars, taking care not to look at the Shaman.

"The Game is very simple. There are no rules and only one objective. It should have been very easy and yet you humans have managed to drag it out across millennia. How droll. Luckily though it seems The Game is back on track."

"What is the objective?" the Shaman asked bluntly. He exhaled sharply yet seemed to refuse to acknowledge her presence by looking at her.

"You must gain access to all four of the Vaults of Knowledge on your world." He said plainly, as though the task were simple and mundane.

"And what do we have to gain by this?" Her mind was whirring ahead again; this explained why the Chumara had sent a small group of scouts! They were looking for the Vault. Treshnar finally turned and looked into the hollow eyes of the shaman mask, a wicked smile now smeared across his face.

"The shaman who enters all four Vaults will gain the combined knowledge of the four shamans, a great gift that does not equal the sum of its parts." He took a pause to enjoy her confused silence, revelling in the moment, loving the grand crescendo in tension and suspense. "She will achieve something greater, more splendid than any human could ever dream. She will become something more than one of you sickening, pathetic creatures. She will become… a God."


	7. Section 1 Chapter 6

**Section 1: The Ending**

**Chapter 6 - I Have Failed You**

Remtor strode toward the Vault, trying to push Agar out of his mind. He had other important matters to deal with here. Lithina was stood waiting for him before the Vault, a small crowd behind her. She held a rag to her face, soaked with blood. Laid out to the side of her were the corpses of three Chumara warriors. She was trembling very slightly, no matter how she tried to hide it. She was after all a priest, not a warrior. Never would anyone have thought she would need to deal with this.

"Remtor," she said, her voice quiet and unsteady. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course I was going to come, Priestess," he replied, trying to sound as sympathetic as he could. "Can you tell me exactly what happened?"

"The Shaman and I were looking for answers here," she began, removing the rag from her face so he could hear her better. Her nose and lower face was covered with blood. He felt the anger he had fought to keep down trying to rise again. "And then these warriors came from the way of the shore. It was so dark we never saw them until too late. They struck the Shaman down before we could do anything." A tear ran down her cheek and she quickly swiped it away with an unsteady hand. "I am fortunate to still have my life, if it were not for these two who knows what may have happened."

She gestured to Allan and Edvy who stood there smiling awkwardly at him, hands of one and face of another covered with blood. Remtor paid careful attention to the bald one's nose, crushed sideways and laying almost flat against his face. He hadn't seen a broken nose that bad in years. It continued to drip, the red starting to travel down his chest.

"Why wasn't the Guard with you?" he demanded, in a slightly more forceful tone than he had intended. Lithina actually jumped slightly.

"The Shaman ordered him to stay and get rest," she said quickly. "He tried to protest but the Shaman would hear none of it." Remtor clenched his jaw slightly as regret washed over him.

"And you two are?" he asked bluntly, taking his annoyance and frustration suddenly directed at them.

"W-we're the fishermen lookouts," Allan said with pride and a little fear, a stupid grin plastered across his face. This got little more than a glare from Remtor.

"Uh, Allan and Edvy," Edvy clarified cautiously, gesturing as appropriate. He was expecting them to get the brunt of the blame for this. Remtor frowned a little.

"Why do I recognise those names?" he asked curiously, he'd definitely heard them before but he couldn't think for the life of him where.

"No reason!" they both said hurriedly, both throwing each other a worried sideways glance, each praying that the Chieftain wouldn't remember them for their antics. After a tense moment the Chieftain nodded and seemed satisfied. They both gave a long sigh of relief.

"Well, thank the Gods you were there," Remtor said, brushing the thought aside. "I know it's a big shoreline to watch. I was going to reinforce you in the morning but in light of what has happened I think now would be more appropriate. Good job, men. Get some rest and get that nose looked at."

He stood there, watching them for a moment before they realised they had been dismissed. They both gave a respectful nod and hurried away back toward the shoreline. As they walked the deserted beaten path, Allan was practically leaping with joy while Edvy gingerly poked at his own nose.

"Did you hear that?!" Allan exclaimed excitedly. "I mean did you _hear_ that?! It's finally happened, finally some recognition for all the hard work I do around here!"

"You do hard work around here?" Edvy asked nasally.

"I mean, this is fantastic, thank the Gods I spotted that ship, eh?" Allan carried on, an ear to ear grin slapped over his face.

"Who spotted what now?"

"And high praise to Esvernauh for giving me the sheer power and knowhow to win the day back there!" Allan continued on still, waving his hands around extravagantly as he spoke, taking time for dramatic pauses as he recounted his 'bravery'. Edvy shook his head, incredulous to the fact that Allan claimed the blessing of the God of War and head of the Court of the Underworld, Esvernauh.

"I'm sorry," Edvy began irritably. "YOU won the day did you?"

"Yes, I did, Mister Broke-Face." Allan retorted haughtily. "Did you see anyone getting the better of me? Hmmmm?"

"Just shut-up and crack my nose back, will ya?" Edvy grumbled under his breath.

"Alright, alright," Allan pouted, disappointed at his storytelling being stopped. He got his hands quickly into position on Edvy's face, continuing on irritably. "But you have to admit, I did pretty good back there. Ready for this?"

"Nah, just a-"

CRUNCH.

"Aaaaahhhhhhhh!"

* * *

"A God?" the Shaman repeated in disbelief. "Why, what is the point in all this?" Her voice had become high and erratic from the shock. Treshnar laughed while Natina glared out over the view. She clearly didn't share his enthusiasm for this.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked. "It's fun." Azura's skin was tingling slightly as her emotions ran high. She wanted to hurt him, hurt him badly. It didn't matter it he was a god or not.

"You send thousands of people to their deaths…" she said slowly, taking care and attention to each word through strained breaths. "… for sport?"

"And sporting it is." He grinned. "Such bloody thirsty creatures, you put on quite a show. Or used to at least."

The Shaman now had to actively coach herself to stop herself from taking a swing at the man before her. She could never harm a god but the principle alone seemed somewhat worth the punishment. A moment of clarity breached her mind as she thought of the other shamans. _They want to be gods,_ she thought to herself. _That's why they are attacking now. The Dakini must have the other three. They only need us to complete the set. _Natina began to pace about them, the clunking of her wood-soled sandals ringing out.

"And why should I play in your game?" Azura questioned boldly. "I seek not power but the safety of my people!"

"Let us see how safe your people are when one of the others ascends, shall we?" He cackled, returning his gaze up to the star speckled sky above them. "Oh yes, mad and cruel are the shamans of your world, girl. I look forward to seeing what sick and twisted plans whoever the winner is has for the losers."

"And why are they so mad and twisted?" Natina whispered quietly to him as she passed. He twitched slightly but otherwise ignored her.

"You will be waiting a long time," Azura stated with determination. "We will defend ourselves and we will guard our Vault but I will not attack the others for some misplaced lust for power. I will see to it that none shall ascend. We will _not_ be puppets for your amusement." He chuckled to himself.

"Well we will see how long that lasts," he said condescendingly. She gritted her teeth. She didn't want to ask anything of this monster, she wanted to keep as much satisfaction from him as possible. But there was something she just had to know. Something that didn't make sense.

"Why?" she asked suddenly after a few moments of thought. She continued on with venom in her tone. "Why give away _godhood_? Surely there are lesser things that us 'insects' would fight over?" The god laughed again.

"Oh, now that right there is the big secret." He looked at her again and took a few steps in her direction, a strange and disconcerting curiosity in his eyes now. "Though I'm impressed you asked. The others were just so taken with the prize that they didn't care about anything else. But no, not you. So moral. There is only one way you can find the truth out."

"How?" Her mind really was racing, what could he possibly hope to gain? He was clearly a relatively lowly god by comparison; surely having more around would only diminish him further? Unless what he was after were gods lower on the totem pole than he. Underlings. Neither were particularly good reasons. She wanted to know so badly. "What do I need to do to know?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked in his slimy and amused voice. "You have to win."

Azura screamed as she suddenly felt her body being dragged backward as a searing hot pain shot through her, the blinding white light filling her eyes once again.

* * *

Agar shivered slightly in the cold air. He didn't know how long he'd been knelt there. Hours. It was late night when he and his father had fought and now the sun was beginning to rise. He was grateful for the cold though, the numb was hiding the aches a little. He hadn't moved since he'd first gone out, stayed in the same praying position all that time. His legs were sore from kneeling so long, back aching from being so bent over, arms outstretched across the ground. Every now and then he'd feel a twinge but he tried to concentrate on the cold and on his prayers.

The same prayer ran round and around in his head, over and over and over again. He only prayed for one thing. There were so many things he wanted. He wanted to not be a failure. He wanted to be worthwhile. He wanted his father to be proud of him the way he was of his other sons. He'd been so close. He wanted, for the love of all that was holy, to sleep. But no, these were unimportant and selfish by comparison. He prayed for her to return. As his devoutness shone through, she was all that mattered.

He was so caught up he never noticed people wandering back and forth as the village slowly came to life. He never noticed Remtor stood behind him. Remtor was feeling surprisingly refreshed considering the night. Fortunately he'd managed to squeeze in a few hours sleep both before and after the attack last night. A slight, relieved smile broke onto his face as the sun began to rise, the red light looked glorious spilling delicately through the great stone pillars of the Reincarnation Site. The silhouettes of the men to the other side of it help put him at ease. Shifts had worked through the night to keep putting up the towers to the East and now there were patrols on the coast. Now they just need her back and all would be well.

He hadn't been there very long, he'd woken up about forty minutes ago and then taken the twenty minute cross from the East town to the West. Taking a long sigh, he didn't expect anything to happen for a long while yet. Really he'd come to see Agar, expecting him to be sat in waiting or more likely passed out on the ground. He wasn't going to disturb him when he was praying though. His inner zealous self wished he could join him but he had other things he really ought to be doing. He had just come to check on the boy, guilt from their last encounter was eating him up, especially after Lithina's words. He'd always been hard on Agar. He'd always thought he had to be given his differences, to make him strong like the rest.

The sun was rising quickly, the crimson light slowly but surely making the transition to golden. Remtor never even noticed at first as tiny particles of glowing white light began to form and flutter around the pillars of the Reincarnation Site. Little by little they began to pull together, growing from particles to small orbs which then began to grow and grow. The Chieftain's breath caught in his throat as the orbs suddenly snatched his attention. _She's coming,_ he thought.

His troubles and guilt were forgotten as they danced with grace until they were about the size of a fist. He took a step forward and as they began to align in a circle encasing the whole site Remtor could feel his hair being blown about as a curious wind picked up from nowhere. A small crowd had begun to congregate and fall to their knees as the spectacle continued and the Chieftain followed suit though his eyes were entranced by the scene. The circle of light suddenly began to split into many inner circles, each perfectly aligned over the centre of the site itself. The rings hovered in suspension for a few moments before suddenly being drawn in, forming a bright concentrated core of light, so bright that it hurt to look at but the people couldn't look away. They couldn't until the core suddenly burst outward reforming the rings, the force of the blast expelled from the middle in a strong gust, but no one saw this, they were too busy shielding their eyes from the intensity of it.

Remtor was the first to look back to see her there, stood statuesquely in the centre. She peered out at everyone around here while she stood catching her breath. She felt as though she had just been punched in the gut whilst on fire but fortunately it didn't last long. Her eyes then fell upon Agar and felt her heart break a little. _He must be exhausted, _she thought. Once she felt settled enough she managed to force herself to move forward. Agar never moved, he'd seemed to not notice. Given the silence of the resurrection it wouldn't be surprising.

She knelt down, using the staff in one hand to steady herself and laid her other hand gently on his arm. He flinched, snapping his head up to see the Shaman peering down at him. His skin was stone cold and he quaked slightly. It was so quiet Remtor could hear the Shaman's breathing, it was heavy and ragged. She gave Agar's arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"I'm impressed," her voice chimed delicately, making Agar feel better already. "After all I'd heard about you I expected you to follow us last night. I'm sorry I doubted you."

He was shocked. Of all the things he'd expected her to say, none of those were on the list. Remtor, still knelt behind him, heard as well. Smiling weakly behind his bandana, he didn't know how to react. After some deliberation he decided on a polite nod. He felt the warm, comforting hand give another gentle squeeze before it moved away.

"Come," she said softly as she rose to her feet. He stood as well, albeit with a lot more required effort. It was now he finally noticed his father knelt behind him but couldn't look him in the eye. Despite what the Shaman had said to him he still felt ashamed. Yes, he'd done the right thing but it still felt so alien to butt heads with Remtor. Parental respect was a heavily preached trait among the Iztek. Not left to linger in his guilt for long, the Shaman began to the temple and he followed her closely.

* * *

A few hours had passed and the sun was rising steadily as mid-morning rolled on and passed. It was yet another day filled with brilliant sunshine though a slight, refreshing wind now took the scorching edge away. The Shaman however was hidden away from the pleasant weather, reading over the texts Delan had picked out for her. _No wonder he was so eager for me to read these, _she thought bitterly. _Anything for a bit of influence, right Delan?_

The three High Priests and Remtor were sat before her as she sat in her usual place in the temple's main hall, watching her as she read. Agar had recently joined them, stood to the side of the room, watching the door. He had been, much to Delan's dismay, asleep in the High Priest's Sanctum. Telling him he was not allowed to enter because one of his least favourite people, second only to Remtor, was asleep in there was the single most fun thing she had done since becoming Shaman. But he had recently awoken and, looking significantly healthier, resumed his watchful position.

She wasn't sure how to broach the subject, it seemed very out of place with the rest of the meeting but Delan had _insisted_ it was seen to being a matter of 'significant importance to the tradition of the tribe.' _And definitely not because it would in theory put you in a more powerful position, of course. _The rest of the meeting had been about defence, the troops, training and other important issues but this was out with her sphere of comfort. She decided to defer to her most successful leadership decision to date. Delegation. She handed Delan's copy of the Holy Book to Lithina. As she glanced over it, she saw the issue and frowned. _Slimy little bastard,_ the Priestess thought to herself.

"I see," she said, trying to sound as unimpressed as possible. "While interesting Delan, I'm not sure this is relevant here and now."

"Well," he began defensively. "In actual fact, Priestess, it is quite relevant as it refers to the Shaman's most trusted advisor!" It had the automatic response feeling that suggested he'd practiced this conversation before.

"I thought the Sacred Guard was my most trusted advisor?" the Shaman interjected.

"I would think it is probably more useful to have an advisor who could actually talk," Delan said. Agar exhaled sharply, trying his hardest not to glare at him but keep his eyes firmly locked on the door. "No, I think that was perhaps hyperbole with the intention of drawing in the dim-witted brutes who would be eligible for the position." There was an awkward silence while several people showed impressive restraint.

"I think perhaps you forget the significance of the special bond they share, brother," Greyst calmly stated after a moment with a knowing smile. "Sealed with a touch of magic." Agar furrowed his brow for a moment as he remembered the strange shimmering liquid from his initiation.

"Yes, well in spite of that, the traditions of the tribe must be honoured, must they not?" Delan retorted, waiting for a response. He was met with silence making him smirk with victory. "As I thought."

"I'm assuming this is to do with the Shaman's consort?" Greyst asked.

"Yes," Lithina said with a slight glare at Delan. "The tribe's traditions are quite strict. They must be a High Priest."

Another awkward silence ensued. Everyone was thinking the same thing, the thing Delan wanted them to think. Greyst was too old, Lithina was a woman. There was only one candidate. Agar wasn't sure why but he felt especially enraged. He couldn't explain it, just the whole idea made him seethe. The Shaman had taken the time to begin looking through the Sacred Book. There must have been some other clause or amendment, something that wasn't mentioned elsewhere. She couldn't find anything.

"Then it appears there is only one suitable candidate," Delan announced smugly. He wasn't even attempting to hide the triumphant smirk.

"Yes," the Shaman said through gritted teeth, trying to hide how riled she was. "It would appear so." _Is there no part of my life which is truly mine?_ She thought irritably. _No matter, that weasel won't influence me nor will he lay a finger on me. Let him throw his weight around with a meaningless title, see how far it gets him. _She tried to shrug it off but couldn't. The anger she was feeling didn't feel like her, a strange foreign emotion. She knew he could do nothing to her so why couldn't she calm herself. The more she concentrated on it the stranger it felt. She felt… jealous? What? _That doesn't make any sense,_ she thought in confusion. _Why in the Gods name would I be feeling jealo-_She suddenly flicked her eyes to lay on Agar, his eyes were locked venomously on the door, narrowed, angered.

"If this is all," Remtor began, snatching her attention again, "I will go back to work."

"Yes, of course," she said, trying to push the thought out of her mind for now. "There is still much to be done."

Remtor immediately bowed and left with surprising haste. The Shaman couldn't decide whether it was due to the work to be done or due to a distaste for the conversation. She herself had felt like running away as well. Though she did note he never acknowledged Agar as he left. Greyst and Lithina then followed suit. Delan didn't move.

"Yes?" she asked.

"I was thinking in light of all that has just been said that we should arrange some 'private' time to, eh, get to know each other better." He gave her what he clearly thought was a charming smile but it just made her skin crawl. She could feel that alien hate rise in her again and glanced over to where Agar stood, watching the door still. His face was now a little more neutral but the hand he normally kept resting on the hilt of his blade was white knuckled around it.

"Well, perhaps," she said awkwardly. "But I think for at least the time being all my efforts will be focused on learning how to handle the magic within effectively. There is much I still don't know. I'm sure we all have things that are more important than personal issues right now."

"Oh, yes, yes of course," he said hurriedly. There was a pause. "There was one important thing I needed to ask you. Last night there was a fire, yes?"

"Yes," she answered, glad for the change of conversation to more business like matters, letting her defences down a little. "Yes one of the new towers went up in flames. We currently believe it to be one of the other tribes trying to poke a hole in our ground defence, get a way in."

"I see," he replied with intrigue. "I trust appropriate steps have been taken?"

"Yes, the defences in that area, on the Dakini side of the path, have been strengthened. We believe it was them, preparing for another quick attack. I don't see them giving us much breathing room."

"No, I don't think they will." He replied. "Anyway, I will let you carry on with your busy day."

"Thank you," she managed to say as he turned and left. She noted his lack of bow. Normally she hated people bowing to her but his assumed familiarity after that horrendous conversation really got her back up. And not just hers, she felt. She moved her attention to Agar, who she caught looking over at her. With a flick of her hand she beckoned him over. He came over cautiously and bowed low before kneeling before her.

She smiled behind her mask. She had actually started to like having him around, despite how she initially felt about the idea. The impression she got from him was very similar to the impressions she got from his father. Devout and god fearing, his actions seemed to be those in her best interest. She moved out from behind the book and knelt before him. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep his gaze to the ground. She guessed it was out of respect. Or possibly out of shyness. The idea amused her a little that such a mischievous and hot-headed young man would be so shy though her intuition told her it wasn't one hundred percent to do with respect. These strong impulses she was getting about him had come on quite suddenly and she suspected she knew why.

"You don't need to fidget," she said softly. "I'm not going to hurt you."

She began to undo the bandages holding a dressing to where he was emblazoned with the Shaman's Eye. She exhaled deeply calming down after the revelation of her strict consort rules. Blinking a few times she remembered it wasn't just her she was feeling anymore, it wasn't just her who was calming. He was beginning to feel more peaceful, more at ease. As she pulled the bandage away she nodded slightly, the sight confirming her suspicions.

"As I thought," she said, running her fingers gently over the tattoo. Agar peered down at it in confusion. It was healed. He looked up at her, eyes wide, stunned. "That clear fluid used during your initiation. I thought it was just ceremonial at first but no. Do you know what it was?"

He shook his head gently, now peering at her with intrigue resting his hand over the tattoo as though he was expecting it to begin hurting again at any moment.

"It was mana," she continued. "Mana from myself. That's why your wounds have healed so quickly. My magic conducts through you now, it is far more effective that it should be." She smiled at him behind the mask. He looked so confused and taken back by it all.

"Can I ask you something?" she said suddenly. He nodded, peering at her with bright, curious eyes. "I am a Shaman. In a matter of days I have become a spiritual and military leader. Magic flows through my veins and I see visions. I have been to the Overworld and spoken in person with gods. I know the reason the other tribes seek to attack us. If you could ask me anything, what would you ask me?"

He furrowed his brow and peered at his knees for a moment, deep in thought. It was a big question she knew. Especially for him. He was so used to being unable to speak that if he _could_ ask her a question, he would use his words carefully. She imagined that was partly where the mute tradition came from. Sure, he couldn't spill secrets but it seemed like there was something more. His council, his advice… she just felt it would be worth _more_. He couldn't just open his mouth whenever he felt like it and blurt out every piece of rubbish that popped into his head. No, on the occasions he would go to the effort to make his opinions known they would be worth something.

"We should get going," she said after a few minutes of silence. He nodded and stood up. She felt ever so slightly disappointed but she didn't know why. She didn't know what she expected.

As they were leaving she stopped and turned, and stared straight at Agar. She could have sworn she heard something. He peered at her with confusion for a moment, shrinking away from the intimidating stare of the mask a little, before she shook her head and carried on. Then she heard it again. It wasn't a voice, she didn't know what it was, but it was there.

_I would ask you your name._

She carried on walking, her mind racing. Of all the things in the world he would, he would ask her name. And that was all it took for her to feel safer with him that anywhere else in the world. No one else had acknowledged that there was someone beneath the mask. She wasn't a Shaman to him, she realised. She was a person.

"Oh, by the way," she said nonchalantly as they approached the door, stopping to turn to him. "I like to think that sometime soon you will think of me as more than just a shaman but rather… as your friend. As such you should probably know, my name is Azura, not 'Shaman'."

He stared in disbelief as she walked out the door. He couldn't believe it, it was the most surreal moment. It must have been a coincidence. It had to be. It had to be. Hadn't it?

* * *

It had taken Delan about two hours to get to the rendezvous point and he was feeling very entitled by the time he got there. Someone of his status should _not_ be expected to go tromping through the forest. He had grumbled and complained to himself all the way out here and was relieved when he finally came to the break in the forest though felt a little apprehensive when he saw they were already there waiting for him.

A small army, swathed in green, stood before him. His voice caught in his throat. This had been the plan all along but to say he had doubts as to their loyalty would be an understatement. Stood at the front was their shaman, a tall and slightly muscular woman in a tight fit, knee length dress. It wasn't made of silk but something else, still soft and light allowing the loose skirt and the tails of her elbow length sleeves dance in the wind. Her mask was a large dark oval carved from a far darker wood than the Iztek mask. Beneath the eyes there were two thick green stripes on either side and a single green spot at the very top.

Delan's unease turned to fear as he spotted a monstrously large, stony faced man to her side. Delan quickly identified him as her Sacred Guard by the green Shaman's Eye on his chest. Many of the traditions of the four tribes were remarkably similar as the traditions were set upon them by the Gods who created them, so says the Holy Book. The tribes are, in reality, only separated by small differences. For example, a mute Sacred Guard is only a prerequisite for the Iztek, each of the other tribes have their own criteria for the Guard. Their eyes met and he felt ice run through him. The man was truly terrifying and judging by the look on his face he did not like Delan at all. _Probably another of those pathetic honour types, _he thought bitterly.

"About time you showed up," the woman in green spat, her deep voice filled with contempt. "One was beginning to think you had gotten cold feet."

"Oh, no no no," he replied hurriedly bowing before her, his words quick, strained, fearful. "I was merely making sure my diversion worked. This side of the great path should be clear, they believed that tower I set ablaze was the work of the Dakini and are preparing for an attack from that side."

"Your diversion caused them to _prepare_ for battle?" the green shaman asked incredulously.

"Yes, yes" he began quickly before she could react further. "But they prepare far away from the Vault. By the time they know they are under attack it will take time for the bulk of them to get to you. You said you only need a moment."

"Hmm, very well," she answered without conviction. "Continue to serve the Matak and you shall be given your reward." He smiled greedily, his fear slightly replaced with desire. She waved her hand impatiently, indicating for him to move. With another nervous bow be began to lead the small Matak army through the forest.

* * *

Agar was sat on his haunches in the warm sun, feeling fairly content. The Shaman was doing more of her 'communing with nature' type things while he waited, perched on a conveniently placed rock, fiddling with his belt. He wasn't used to wearing his sword on his waist though he did appreciate the new harness the blacksmith had made for him. All that was visible of it was a leather strap across his chest and one over each shoulder but it allowed him to carry his shield on his back. Out of the way but still to hand.

They were atop a small hill in the forest leading the way to the Centre of the World. It was one of the sites of the new watch towers, the one that was victim to the mystery blaze to be precise. There were a few small bushes scattered around on the meadow like hill but it was mostly flat, a nice contrast to the dense forest all around them. It reminded him a little of the area around his hut. The sun was warm, there was a light refreshing breeze. It would have perfect if it wasn't for the noise.

There was a whole squad of warriors at the bottom of the hill, laughing and shouting and arguing. He didn't know about what and he didn't much care. As long as he knew where the Shaman was and if she was safe, that was all he reasonably wanted to concentrate on for now. He watched her wandering. She seemed to be purposeful but he couldn't figure out what she was doing. _Probably something I couldn't understand anyway, _he reasoned. His fingers moved to the hilt of his sword as he became aware of someone approaching behind him.

"There will be no need of that, boy," his father's voice boomed out.

_Oh Gods,_ Agar thought. _Here it comes. _He stood up and turned to face Remtor, who stood arms folded across his chest, face stern and unmoving. He frowned in annoyance. Even stood on this rock his eyes were only just level with the Chieftain's. He had to focus on that, he had been dreading seeing Remtor since their last conversation. Standing up to him like that was a bad idea in hindsight and he knew he was now in a whole new world of trouble. He lowered his head to his usual guilt ridden, respectful posture.

"I need to talk to you," he said. Agar took a deep breath, bracing himself for the torrent. "I… I'm sorry."

It took a moment or two for what Remtor said to sink in. Agar raised his head cautiously to peer at his father. He thought he'd misheard at first. The Chieftain shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Apologies were not his forte. He wasn't used to being wrong.

"You're right, Agar," he continued on. "Her orders are paramount. I never realised it was a direct order for you to stay. I'm sorry, I jumped to conclusions in the moment. You aren't a child anymore and I just need to accept that you know what you're doing now. You bring honour to us, boy."

Agar could do nothing but smile. He had no idea how to react, it was the first time he'd been told such a thing. Fortunately he wasn't expected to give much of a return as Remtor quickly tried to change the subject. Neither he nor Agar were fond of deep emotional moments so both were eager to move on from this. Agar couldn't hold a grudge, he knew why Remtor acted the way he did and he admitted his mistake right away. He apologised. And that was the end of it.

Remtor began to talk about how the training was getting on and about the defences and the other normal things he would say, as though nothing had ever happened. But something had changed and Agar knew it as he smiled behind his bandana. He'd done it, he'd actually made his father proud.

* * *

Delan hated every moment of the journey through the forest. There was a lot more people now to they travelled through the thickest and darkest part of the woods to remain hidden. The sun couldn't breach the branches above and as a result it was dark, cold and damp. Delan liked luxury in life. He liked to be warm and dry and lazy. So he couldn't think of a worse activity than trudging all day through this near swampy nightmare. Still, with the Matak at his back he had no choice. Especially with how ruthlessly the poor guards left at the tower they passed had been slaughtered.

It was getting risky now, the forest was beginning to thin as they edged their way around the village to the Vault. Unless something miraculous occurred they would be spotted very shortly though they were so close now it would take far too long for the reinforcements to reach them.

The Matak Shaman was grinning behind her mask. She was so lucky to have found such a disloyal little toad among the Iztek. A High Priest as well, oh how they have slipped from the tales of old. _Fearsome and undefeatable? _She thought to herself. _Ha! Times have changed._

"You," she said bluntly to Delan. He almost jumped out of his skin. "Go back now. We can see the Vault from here. If you are to be of further use you must not be seen with us."

He nodded and bowed a little before scurrying back past the long line of soldiers. He was relieved, he wasn't sure if she would let him get away earlier or leave him to come up with some explanation for him being there later. He still had the fear though. What if one of them was captured? What if they gave Delan up in return for their freedom? His mind raced and his heart pounded. Fear and doubts suddenly became overwhelming and he broke into a run, fleeing deep into the forest.

* * *

The Shaman was pleasantly surprised as she returned to Agar to see the Chieftain there, she had wanted to speak with him. They were sat together on the rock and Remtor was talking away to him with many a great hand gesture. She smiled behind her mask as she noted Agar's feet dangling above the ground and realised she felt surprisingly at peace. She'd spent the morning with her mind far away from this world, concentrating on the whispers of the Gods and their lessons. The more she learned, the more she became at ease with herself. She was beginning to understand things and it felt good. As the two men saw her they both rose to their feet, Agar first having to drop to the ground of course, and gave a brief bow.

"Hello you two," she chimed brightly.

"Shaman." The Chieftain said in acknowledgement, a wide smile on his face. Agar nodded to her.

"You seem on good form," she added. Remtor threw a slight glance at Agar.

"Just glad to have gotten a few things straightened out," he replied with a knowing smile.

"Good!" she exclaimed. "It's nice to hear of problems being resolved as opposed to created."

"Hmm, yes," he said, eyeing her carefully, before cautiously adding. "Without wanting to push my luck, I was wondering what you thought of our meeting this morning?"

"I can only assume you refer to Delan's little addition at the end," she answered testily, her cool and collected aura dropping instantly. "What I thought of it? I thought it was the most abhorrent idea I've ever heard. Unfortunately it doesn't look like I have much choice though, does it?"

"Unfortunately not."

"That wasn't what you wanted to ask me, Remtor," she added sternly. "Spit it out."

"I was wondering if your stance on Delan had changed since last night," He asked. Agar peered between the two of them in confusion, he'd missed that conversation while unconscious.

"It has not," she answered. "He can have his pathetic title if he wishes, it will change nothing. I still won't trust him and if he so much as lays a hand on me I'll snap it off." Remtor adopted a satisfied grin.

"Glad to hear it."

_Talk about an understatement,_ Agar thought, exhaling sharply. He shrunk back a little as the Shaman, as Azura, turned the frightening mask to gaze right at him. It was strange, there had been a few times today that it almost seemed as though she could hear him. He shook the thought off; he was obviously just imagining it.

"I actually wanted to talk to you, just to get an update to everything," the Shaman said to Remtor as she turned her attention back to him.

"Ah well-" he began enthusiastically only to be suddenly cut off.

A faint but distinct sound could be heard coming from the West. The deep, resonating tone rang out over the landscape. A gong was ringing from the main village and a sharp panic rose in the chests of the assembled as they looked over to the West. They were under attack.

* * *

Despite their efforts and travelling the distance in record time, they were too late. The Shaman and Agar had arrived first, both of them were far lighter and faster than the rest of the warriors and lacked the sense of self-preservation required to wait for them to catch up. They had run as fast as they could, never stopping, never slowly, hearts pounding against their chests and ragged breaths tearing at their lungs but it had been in vain. All that remained were bodies.

Scattered around the base of the Vault were about two dozen corpses, most of them Iztek. The scene was a bloodbath. The nearby huts were smouldering, burned to cinders so quickly in the way that only a shaman could do. The stench of smoke and blood hung in the air. Azura's fists clenched as she saw most of the dead Iztek appeared to be either unarmed or equipped with crude farming tools. A few enemy soldiers lay among the losses, the Shaman shaking with anger as her eyes fell upon them. They wore the green of the Matak.

She could hear people congregating behind her. She could hear worried voices and a few people weeping behind her. She felt a wave of desperation wash over her she fought for options in her head, searching for anything that would stop the inevitable having to be faced. But deep down she knew what she had to do. Terrified faces peered back at her, waiting for a strong word and a decisive action. There was only one viable option that played in her mind but she couldn't face it. Perhaps the war would go on for generations the way it had been so far. Perhaps they would never have to face the catastrophe that would be the ascension of one of the shamans. Perhaps after they ascended they would be satisfied. Perhaps they would be left alone. She almost cried out as she knew each and every one of those hopes were so woefully futile.

It enraged her, she hated being played, being forced against her will. She had chosen a risky path to pursue to preserve the tribe's vow of peace but now they truly had no choice. Turning, tears began to fall from her eyes though fortunately her emotion was hidden from the people. She needed to be strong now. The path ahead was long and dark and there was no light at the end of the tunnel. There was only blood and pain. There was only one other path, no matter what other choice she made. She would not willing inflict that fate upon her people. They would not easily fall.

"People of the Iztek!" she announced loudly so that all assembled could hear. "Today we have suffered a great loss. Greater than you all know. Last night, in death, I spoke with Gods and they told me of the reasons behind it all. There are Gods that live above and below us who are wise and compassionate, who treat us as their creations and their children. But I have learned a harsh truth. There are Gods among them who would pit the tribes against each other for their sport. Sport and nothing else! This is why the others attack us now, not because of old grudges but because these Gods have presented us all as unwitting participants in their sick amusement."

There were a gasps from the crowd as she explained the full details of what she learned, the faces of the people filled with disbelief and horror. At least a few hundred people had congregated, each with a sense of despair about them. There were scared whispers exchanged between people as she spoke. The worst was left for last and as she began to describe the prize and the maliciousness of the other shamans someone actually shrieked. They all knew the stories. They all knew how each tribe regarded the others.

"My initial plan was to guard the Vault, protect it and stop _anyone_ winning this futile game. The power of a God should not be handed out lightly. But no, this was not good enough for the powers above and the Matak have invaded our Vault. We can no longer sit by idle. We can no longer choose the path of peace. It is now out of our hands and if the Matak rise to this ultimate power we cannot imagine the atrocities we would be subject to. People! Hear me! We have no choice. We will make the Dakini wish they have never come to our home. We will teach the Chumara true regret for stepping foot on our soil, we will remind the Matak of the full force of Iztek fury!"

The crowd began to roar fiercely in response, fists raised. Azura felt the sense of tribal pride suddenly rise thickly among the mob. They were behind her on this. Relief washed over her, the doubt and hypocrisy she felt before falling away, leaving only a burning anger and vicious righteousness. The Shaman turned her gaze to the sky, shouting at the clouds, her voice turning savage and hateful. The sharp coldness of the mana behind her eyes was the only respite from the hot rage in her now, the magic flaring up with her emotion.

"Fine! I concede! We will play your game! We will fight, we will become the tribe we once were! Quake with fear, me and my people come for justice! We come for you! We will fight and we WILL win!"


	8. Section 2 Prologue

**Section 2: The Rise of the Sun**

**Prologue**

I couldn't help but smile as I looked at him. Arms bound tightly above his head in iron manacles, head handing limply as he sat with his back against the wall. Absolutely covered from head to toe in blood. His body was a canvas of slashes and gouges, a picture of torn flesh and plum bruises. The cloth of his trousers that was once orange had long been stained bright scarlet in his own blood. He barely had any energy left, his breathing was shallow and rapid. I took a few steps closer to him and chuckled as he made a pitiful attempt to recoil away from the sound of my approach but his eyes remained closed.

"Hello, worm," I said, pressing my foot against his shattered ankle, my cruel sneer only deepening as he began to cry out in pain. He couldn't see it behind my mask but I like to think he knew it was there. "Not as unconscious as you'd have me believe, hmm?"

"Just kill me, please," the pathetic piece of filth begged, blood pouring from his mouth as he spoke, his least swollen eye opening halfway.

"I am not an unkind woman," I replied. "I will allow you death if you answer one question."

"Please, I will answer," the disgusting creature groaned. His weakness was sickening.

I crouched down in front of him, cackling again as I felt the dampness of his blood seep between my toes.

"Good," I said, grabbing his hair and pulling his head up. I wanted to see his eyes, to see if he would lie to me. Though I can't lie to myself, I also sought to see the fear there. I had to look closely, only one of them could open now through the swelling and the scars. The guards had done a splendid job of making him welcome. "You a taken by a jailor to a man who is restrained tightly, his mouth is forced open so that he must eat anything given to him. There is no indication as to which tribe he is from but you know it is not your own. You are given three choices: you may either give him food; feed him the leaves of the Underworld's Green; or you may do nothing. What do you do?"

The Underworld's Green is a plant well known for causing lasting excruciating pain when ingested but no proper physical harm.

"I would aid him by giving him the food," he answered instantly, his face slightly contorted at the horridness of the question.

"If you truly wanted to aid him, would you not free him?" I asked him, unable to keep the wicked glee from my voice as I asked him. They were all so predictable. He eyed me unsurely.

"T-that wasn't an option," he stammered.

"Wasn't it?" I shot back at him. He could do nothing but stare back at me with that bloodshot, fearful eye. "What was stopping you? You really are pathetic. Though that is just how you people think, isn't it? You like to believe you are so high and righteous but I know that really you are just like me. You want the enemy in their place, you want to be above them, looking down, them cowering beneath your heel! But there is a difference between you and I. I _am_ above you all." I shook my head at him before getting up and walking away, I couldn't stomach the disgusting thing anymore.

"My Shaman," one of my loyal guards began. "Shall we kill hi-"

"No," I cut him off. "He is to stay on the same treatment as before, for as long as you can make him last."

"NO!" The prisoner shrieked desperately from behind me. "I answered your question!"

"That thing is not worthy of an audience with the Gods," I said to the guard and he nodded back at me. I stepped outside into the beautiful sunshine, surveying the village with a smile, the tortured howls of the prisoner behind me filling the air as the guard began the work he was so _very_ talented at.

I could tell already, it was going to be a wonderful day.


	9. Section 2 Chapter 1

**Section 2: The Rise of the Sun**

**Chapter 1: Worthless**

The Shaman stood silently, looking up at the Vault of Knowledge. The cold air licked at the calves of her legs and at her shoulders. The very first leaves were beginning to turn golden as the seasons changed and every day the ground felt colder against her bare feet. They had had their bounteous summer and very shortly the crushing vice of winter would be upon them. This world enjoyed long summers and suffered long winters, with only a few short weeks transitioning them. The period of winter was a long and perilous time. For now at least, the weather was overcast, turning the village and the surrounding lands a weary gray, a perfect reflection on the Shaman's mood. People moved silently behind her, hurrying back and forth. She didn't hear them though.

Everyday since that damn attack she had come here, and would continue coming here, trying desperately to force herself inside but she couldn't. The taste of her own weakness made her sick but no matter how she tried she could not spit it out. The only thing giving her the courage to come here was Agar by her side. But he could not venture inside with her, leaving her truly alone in the terrible structure. She wanted so badly to be brave enough and strong enough to step inside but every time she approached she choked with fear. Fear of the unknown inside and fear at the terrible reminder of what her death felt like.

She scolded herself again, she was not afraid to enter before, why should she be now? Every force that opposed her since had been met with her immovable stance and felt the wrath of the Iztek. Why should this one place make her shrivel up and give in? She sighed deeply. It was because, no matter how much she tried to hide it or deny it, she was still just a terrified little girl. This place was the solid testament to that and despite how much she hated it, her frozen limbs made her unable to do anything about it.

"Let's go, my friend," she uttered eventually to Agar, her voice weak. He frowned sadly at her as her shoulders sagged and her head shook slightly. She turned on her heel and walked away.

* * *

Lithina was breathing heavily, heart pounding with fear as she hid in the undergrowth, wondering how in the world she ended up here. Two weeks had passed since the tragedy of the Vault being plundered. The tribe had taken the turn to war in their stride and since then had been a constant stream of minor skirmishes as the other tribes tried to poke and prod their way into the Iztek lands but they had not let the line to their territory fall. Little by little they had built up their defences and their relentless effort meant that now a solid line stood between their home and the enemy. One of their outposts had been assaulted the night before and Lithina had joined the small squad sent to retake it. Priests had always accompanied soldiers to both build morale for their own and demoralise the enemy. The Iztek particularly had a habit of sending a high priest to show how little they feared their enemies. They had however been woefully misinformed and a far larger group of Dakini still waited at the outpost.

The High Priestess now hid in the foliage, the thick mossy smell filling her lungs, combining with her fear to make her feel deeply nauseous. She couldn't see much from her position, it was dark, over shadowed by the forest, and that was before even accounting for the dreary weather of the day. She tried to control her breathing, stay calm and quiet but it was hard. She was good at the brave face when backed with warriors, she did her job well. If there was one thing Lithina had been good at it was finding people's insecurities and knowing just how to prod them right. But it was all an act and she knew it. She was no warrior and she had no desire to die a bloody death. No matter how hard she tried, she could not contain her ragged, fearful breathing as she heard someone approaching.

Very slowly she could hear someone rustling through the leaves. Terror coursed up and down her body like lightening and it paralysed her. She wanted to run but she just couldn't move. There was no winning option, anyway. There would no way she could outrun them and if she tried to move they would definitely hear her. All she could do was remain still and pray. All the hope never fully drained out of her until she felt the ferns next to her moving against her quivering arm. A small whimper escaped her lips.

"Shhhh," a voice came with surprising gentleness. With great effort, she craned her neck to look up at him from her prone position. A Dakini man was crouched over her, a deep furrow on his brow. A fairly built man who appeared in his early twenties. Long hair was tied loosely behind his back but left long strands ran to over his face. He was spattered in the blood of the Iztek. She couldn't see any wounds on him at all, he was clearly good at what he did. Though her eyes were drawn elsewhere.

His hands rested on his knees and she couldn't tear her eyes away from them. They seemed to be glowing from the inside, deep orange light seemingly burning within them. That somehow made her even more scared, this man before her with imbued with some sort of magical power, something unheard of in anyone not destined to be a shaman. He didn't appear to have any weapons on him.

"Run," he whispered, his dark eyes bearing down on her. What he said took a moment to sink in as confusion and fear fought for her attention.

"What?" she answered quietly, the shock more than a little apparent. Her confused eyes examining his face, looking for tells and lies, trying to see if he was toying with her. She couldn't see anything that suggested he was trying to trick her. She said nothing else, didn't move at all, just stared at him in disbelief.

"Run," he repeated. "Run away before more come."

"Y-you aren't going to kill me?" she managed to stammer out. He seemed on average size for a man but this was more than enough to dwarf Lithina.

"You are not a warrior. I will not kill you," he responded hurriedly, glancing over toward the outpost cautiously. His face was deathly serious but he didn't show any aggression.

"I am your enemy," she said uncertainly. He suddenly reached out and grasped her arm, dragging her in one harsh movement to her feet and pushing her toward the forest, still worriedly glancing around, watching out for other Dakini.

"Do you want to die?" he asked harshly in his hushed tone, frustration clearly starting to take over him as she regained her feet and turned to face him. He took a step toward her as though trying to scare her into running away. "Run while you can!"

"Why haven't you killed me?" she inquired quietly, growing slightly more bold, standing her ground against him. He was so close to her but she refused to move, staring up into his eyes. Her talent for reading people had taken firm hold and gave her confidence.

"Please, run!" He whispered more urgently. "If they find us, I will have no other option than kill you or be killed. I don't want to die that way."

"But you would?" she shot back, suddenly filled with more intrigue than fear.

"You are no danger to me. I will not kill you," he repeated, eyes darting about fearfully. Voices could be heard from the outpost. "I kill who I need to. This war means nothing to me, I only care for it to end so that this bloodshed may stop."

"You are a man of peace," she said with a little awe. The tales of the past made the prospect of a peaceful Dakini somewhat of a miracle.

"Soon to be not of this world if you do not leave," he answered sternly. "Right now."

"Come with me," Lithina suddenly said.

"What?" he asked, frowning at her in disbelief, caught wildly off guard with the request.

"Our Shaman fights for peace, not the prize your shaman and the others fight for," she began, placing a hand gently on his arm. She could already see his face starting to soften as he peered down in surprise at her hand, she doubted persuading him would take long. He clearly hated this lifestyle to his very core. "Come with me. A man of peace should fight for nothing other than peace itself. You know of the prize, yes?" The man nodded, the uncertainty filling his face. "And you know your shaman better than I do. What would she do with that power?"

He shook his head and cradled it in his hands for a moment. Lithina smiled, he was torn, he was bending. He wasn't their enemy and even he could not deny the cruel nature of his own shaman. It wouldn't take much to convince him now. It was so easy it was possible he'd been thinking of leaving his tribe before now, Lithina mused.

"Let me save your soul," she pleaded softly, squeezing his arm a little and drawing her face closer to his. "Let me show you something worth fighting for."

"I..." He began to speak but stopped, his head racing with thoughts and emotions. But really, there was only one thing he could do and he knew it. He knew the callous ways of the Dakini Shaman. He knew that he wanted none of the guilt that would come with securing her a power that would allow her to torture the other tribes for the rest of their days. He sighed, clearly ashamed of his decision but unable to deny it. To betray his people was... it was unthinkable. But the thought of fighting for a shaman who actually had some sense of compassion or empathy was so tempting. Was it worth the gain of one guilt for the absolution of another? Finally he exhaled heavily and shook his head again, not looking at her.

"I... I will go with you."

* * *

Delan barely acknowledged his former golden boy Krel as he brought the High Priest food, his mind was far away. They were both alone and silent in the temple, their shadows stretched long and far behind them thanks to the strong candles. The High Priest was smiling wickedly, finally after all this time he had managed to get the Shaman to agree to eat with him. If he was to be of any further use to the Matak he would have to up the ante and the role of consort was the perfect path to pursue. It had taken time but finally she could deny no more. She knew the laws of the tribe and could not deny this important tradition much longer.

A private and personal meal, well that would be the perfect time for him to start winning her trust. He knew what they were expecting of him and that was part of his plan. He grinned wickedly to himself, staring off into space as he did so. _They all expect me to rush in, trying to force ideas upon her and... other things,_ he thought calculatingly to himself. _They take me for a fool. I will be there with my fantastic "Oh I am _so_ misunderstood" face and _then_ we shall see! I am, after all, such a terrible liar and useless manipulator that she'll have to believe me. _He could barely contain his glee. His sob story was all ready, a cascade of purple prose ready to be thrust upon her, all about how his mannerisms and ways were out of fear of failure and insecurity. _Yes, acting the bad man all along when deep down _I_ am the most loyal!_ _She'll eat it up,_ he grinned. _Oh tonight, you cannot come fast enough._

* * *

The Dakini man was already beginning to have doubts as he and Lithina hiked back through the forest. They had been walking for almost an hour, every step he came closer to the home of his enemy. Would they accept him? Or would he be cut down before he could even speak? Would they trust him? He didn't think _he_ would trust him so why should they? Why did he trust this priestess?

"What is to stop your people killing me on sight?" he asked suddenly. She was a little taken aback, her efforts to start a conversation with him earlier had failed and thus far he had kept himself very quiet.

"Me," she answered simply. "They will not hurt you if I am with you."

"Are you that important?" he questioned, the disbelief apparent in his voice.

"I don't know how it works in your tribe," she said in a mock haughty voice. "But the Iztek hold their High Priests in quite high regard."

"Y-you are a High Priest?" he exclaimed. "You are so young!"

"There are reasons for that," she replied knowingly. "Don't make the mistake of thinking that makes me any less worthy of my position."

He nodded, contemplating the possibility that he would not see the end of this day. The idea of a merciful shaman was so alien to him. He still didn't trust that he would last very long despite this woman's position. He also took the time to contemplate the tribe itself, they really were as mad as the stories people told. Sending a High Priest into battle? He shuddered a little, the Iztek's apparent confidence was actually quite frightening.

Lithina raised her hand up, indicating for him to stop. It was the first time in a while he had looked around, he'd been lost in his own thoughts, his worries, his doubts for some time. They were at the edge of the forest. He could actually _see_ an Iztek village. His flesh was damp with sweat as his apprehension rose.

"Wait here," the woman said to him gently. "I will be back in few minutes."

He nodded, releasing a ragged breath as he did so. Scenarios began whizzing past his eyes of him being discovered before she returned. He crouched down behind one of the old, thick trees, hoping to be a little more well hidden. Somehow all at once he hoped she would both take no time at all and all the time in the world. Meeting with the Iztek was a truly terrifying thought but, he supposed, it would be better than being discovered here and cut down immediately. No matter what he thought though, he could do nothing about it. All he could do was sit and wait. And so he did, rocking back and forth slightly, flexing his glowing orange fingers as he did so.

* * *

The Chieftain had been busy all of this morning, there had been minor issues arising across both of the villages. None particularly serious, or even relatively serious, but people had been vying for his attention all day and this was the first moment he'd had to himself. He sat back, exhaling deeply and closing his eyes, trying to push the thoughts of angry, over worked blacksmiths; mischievous drunken fishermen; escaped, hungry livestock; wood being stored in "completely inappropriate and quite frankly offensive places"; and every other ridiculous incident he'd been bothered with out of his mind while his eldest sorted through some parchments on his floor in silence.

He laid his head back, enjoying the dim of his hut, soothing the headache he'd been harbouring. It was nice and quiet over this side of town and he could hardly hear anything outside. The odd voice or the shuffling of a rare person passing. A wonderful change from the chaos that seemed to be everywhere else. He thought for a moment that perhaps this day was as hectic as any other and tiredness was just catching up with him but quickly dismissed the idea. He had definitely had to listen to far more stupid complaints today than he had any other day.

He was just starting to unwind a little when he heard a delicate knock at his door. He grimaced, dreading what was to come. What complete idiocy had the tribe come up with now? He signalled for his son to stay put while he got to his feet with a groan, slowly moving over to the door in no hurry to hear whatever weird and wonderful things were happening now. With another deep sign and extremely low expectations, he opened the door.

"Chieftain, I'm so sorry but I come with grave news," Lithina blurted out immediately. Remtor's mind instantly sharpened as he saw the woe in her face.

"Are you the only one who came back?" he asked, frowning with sadness.

"Of the assault, yes," she said solemnly. He nodded slowly, planning the next course of action, trying to save his thoughts for the dead for another time. It took him a moment to appreciate what she said. "What do you mean, 'of the assault'?"

"I..." she began timidly but tried to shrug it off, tried to strengthen her resolve. Remtor had always respected the opinions of her and of Greyst. There was no reason to fear. "I have brought someone back, one who wishes to join the devoted. To join us."

"Are you serious?" He exclaimed in surprise. "You have managed to tame one of the wildmen?" The wildmen are exactly as the name suggests. People believed to be wild, primitive and dangerous who belong to no tribe and live in the wilderness. They are both looked down upon and feared by those of tribes. Remtor's face stoned over as the priestess shook her head, her caution returning.

"N-no..." she stammered, forgetting her own authority as the Chieftain loomed over her menacingly.

"Lithina, what have you done?" The tone of his voice had dropped and a worrying glint formed in his eyes. This was the first time in all the time she had known him that he had neglected her title. The sound of her name alone in his deep, powerful voice shook her. Fear and doubt froze her. "Who is it?" he barked, each word slow, deliberate, harsh.

"H-he was at t-the outpost." She began, trying but failing to regain composure and authority. "A man w-who longs for peace and follows our virtues. H-he is not like the others of his k-kind. Please, Remtor, believe me!" She took a step back from him as the anger rose in his face but he stepped up to her again out of the door way. "He... he is- he _was_... D-Dakini."

She fell backwards as Remtor ripped the huge sword from the sheath on is back. She made no attempt to get up in her shock. She had never seen this side of the Chieftain before. The mirage of gentle giant lay shattered around her as she quaked with fear beneath the juggernaut. Her blood ran cold as she looked up at him, his image was so frightening that she half expected him to end her right there. His son had appeared in the doorway, face filled with concern.

"Where is it?" Remtor asked, his stern, unblinking eyes fixed on hers.

"Y-you cannot kill him! Please!" she pleaded. "At least g-give him an audience with the Shaman!"

"What's going on here?" All their attentions were snatched by the appearance of the Shaman and her guard, the son in the doorway dropping to his knees. Lithina felt slightly faint as the relief rushed to her head.

"The enemy lie near," the Chieftain boomed, his locked eyes never moving from Lithina. Agar immediately drew the sword from his belt.

"No!" Lithina interjected. "He is not our enemy!"

"I repeat..." the Shaman said coldly. "What is going on?"

"Our efforts to retake the outpost have failed, my Shaman," Lithina quickly started before the Chieftain could interject. "I am all that remains. As I lay hiding one of the enemy found me but would not kill me! I spoke with him, he is a man of peace. I... I convinced him to come back with me." She took a pause from her desperate recount of the tale but hastily continued as the Shaman tilted her head at her. "He shares our ideals, he despises his own shaman and her cruelty. He does not belong with them."

"He does not belong with us either," the Chieftain stated. "He would not spill the blood of a woman but how many of our men did not see the same kindness from him?"

"Would our men have stopped to listen?" the High Priestess shot back. There was a tense pause. "T-there is another thing. His hands... T-they glow from within, a strange orange light..."

"He is one of the flaming devils?!" the Chieftain asked incredulously. The Shaman raised her hand to stop him from proceeding, while all the rest stared wide eyed in disbelief.

The flaming devils, as they had been called by the tribesfolk, were an unknown quantity. There were many theories as to what they were and none had been ruled out. Some thought they were men, blessed with power by their shaman; others thought they were wildmen, who perhaps might have become shaman, taken in by the tribes; the most sane suggestions were that the flaming devils were some form of manmade structure. All people truly knew for sure was that where a flaming devil went, balls of fire flew freely, destroying man and building alike. They were, thankfully, rare and the shamans of the other tribes had not been lax enough to allow the Iztek to directly see one.

"Bring him here," said the Shaman, her voice having lost the cold edge it had before. Lithina nodded as she scrambled to her feet and scurried away to the tree line. The Chieftain and Agar exchanged a glance, both still with weapon in hand. The Shaman indicated for the other son to rise. "Now do _try_ and restrain yourselves, I trust Lithina's judgement."

"I just want to be ready should this devil turn on us," the Chieftain replied. "We know nothing of them aside from their destructive force."

"Exactly," she responded. "This could be our chance to finally learn something about them."

"Ah, I see," Remtor nodded slowly. "You intend to use it to learn their ways? Very wise, Shaman. And then what?"

"Well that depends entirely on him," she said solidly. "If he is as Lithina says then I agree with her. I will welcome anyone who truly does not care for this 'game'. Anyone who truly longs for peace is welcome here."

"You will trust it so easily?" the Chieftain threw another glance to Agar. As their eyes met he was sure he was thinking the same thing and they both still had their weapons drawn. This Dakini scum would get no warm welcome from either of them. Even if the Shaman said he would live, he would be very lucky to continue living with all his limbs.

"I will know more when I meet him," she answered softly.

"Alphrus," Remtor began, turning to his eldest. "Find Greyst and tell him that I will be a little late for our meeting. I wish to remain for this."

"Yes, Father," he said before hurrying away.

There was a moment of silence while the three of them waited tensely. Agar was far too like his father to be anything other than hostile to this situation and the Shaman could feel it. The link between them grew stronger all the time, she could feel the emotions radiate from him. At every mention of the Dakini she felt a sharp rush of hate from him. And yet despite their connection he was an enigma. She could feel his emotions and occasionally even hear his thoughts and yet she could not understand him. There was more to him than the hot-headed and withdrawn persona he exuded, she was sure of it. He was so closed off however that he didn't make it easy at all for her to find out.

Out of the tree line emerged Lithina first and then a man, a tall and built man with the red standard of the Dakini hanging from his waist band. The Chieftain moved to stand next to the Shaman so that he and Agar were both at her sides. The Shaman smirked to herself as both glared darkly at the approaching man, never before realising how similar their eyes and expressions were. They both stood with eyes of ice boring into the Dakini traitor who now stood before them, head down. There was another pause before Remtor's hate filled voice broke the silence.

"On your knees, dog!" he snapped. The man dropped to his knees wordlessly, placing his bizarre glowing hands on the dirt in front of him as he bent over slightly in an attempt to show respect and submissiveness. It was the only thing that was going to keep him alive, he reasoned. Agar had moved to his side, eyeing him like a hawk, ready to strike at the first sign of trouble. Lithina watched on, the worry lines etched deep in her face.

"Tell me why you have come here, Dakini," the Shaman finally said, her voice still as calm and smooth as usual.

"If I am forced to fight," he began, his voice shaky and quiet. "Then I wish to fight for something worth it. I wish to fight for a future that will end the unnecessary suffering, not cause more of it."

"You are one of their flaming devils," the Shaman said. The man shifted uncomfortably and drew his hands in closer to his knees. "Tell me of your kind."

"We are known as the fire warriors," he croaked, voice cracking slightly under the strain he now felt. The hostile presence of Agar and Remtor pressed down on him like the weight of the world. "A few centuries ago the wars between the three tribes began to die out. No one had made any head way for years, apparently, and the will for the fight faded. We do not know why but the Gods took a great knowledge and placed it in the hands of the shaman. Our Shaman says it was to fuel the battles, to inspire us to fight on."

"Yes, that sounds about correct," Azura uttered bitterly, narrowing her eyes in thought of the snake, Treshnar. "Continue."

"There is an ancient scroll that gives the shaman the power to bestow the gift of fire upon her people. As far as I am aware, she need only have read it and the gift remains with her forever." For the first time he looked up at her but quickly dropped his gaze again as Agar made an aggressive half step toward him. The Shaman raised her hand to him, indicating for him to back off a little. He did, albeit begrudgingly. "W-when blessed with this power, a man becomes able to turn his hands into blazes and throw fire at will."

"The Gods would give the power of shamans to mere men?" Remtor asked in disbelief.

"Desperate times," Azura answered without conviction. "Apparently the Gods would do anything for a bit of sport." She shook her head. "This scroll, your shaman still has it, you say?"

"Yes," said the Dakini. "It is held in a hut near the temple."

"You have been?" she asked. He nodded, the loose strands of his long hair swaying as he did so. "Good. You're taking us there."

Agar and Remtor immediately looked up at the Shaman but she raised her hand to indicate for them to stay silent. She put the head of her staff under his chin and raised his head until his eyes met the vacant darkness of her mask. Her calm, serene voice somehow made the terrible emptiness of the mask even more frightening. His blood ran like ice through his veins. The High Priestess stood behind him, her hands clasped under her chin, hope twinkling in her eyes.

"Look me in the eye, fire warrior of the Dakini," she began, her voice taking on a bold and authoritative strength. "Tell me once more that you are a man of peace. Tell me that you pledge your life and your soul to me. If I think that even the tiniest sliver of your heart feels otherwise I will allow these men, who very much wish to hurt, to do so. So tell me again, why did come here?"

He continued to stare with fear into the abyss that was her eyes. He could feel the anticipation of the Chieftain and the Guard, waiting with baited breath to do Gods knew what to him. There was a pause and he feared it was too long. She would think his conviction was not there had he not answered immediately. He took one long, deep breath before he could bring himself to answer. The only consolation he felt was that he did truly speak from the heart.

"I came here because I am a man of peace," he said finally, his words shaken and unsteady. "I came here to pledge my life and my soul to you, to aid you and your tribe in any way I can."

"You mean your tribe," she chimed, smiling gently behind her mask. Lithina let out a huge sigh of relief. The Shaman removed her staff from him. "Rise now, fire warrior of the Iztek. You are one of us."

"Thank you, Shaman!" Lithina exclaimed as the man rose uncertainly to his feet. Neither the Chieftain nor his son looked any more inviting. Agar glanced uncertainly between the former Dakini and the Shaman but his father just kept furious eyes locked on the man.

"This is Remtor, the Chieftain of Iztek," the Shaman said, indicating to Remtor who, very begrudgingly, finally re-sheathed his sword. His face did not soften any though. "You will answer to him. I can send for someone to sort you out, for now."

"I will take care of him," the Chieftain harshly spat. The Shaman noted his eyes move for the first time from the man to meet with those of his son.

"Thank you," she said. "And not that I need to remind you but he is _not_ our enemy any longer." She took a moment to lend him an extended stare, ensuring that he could not 'accidently' brush over that statement later.

"Yes, Shaman," he forced through his teeth. "Come with me, Turncoat."

"Yes, Chieftain," answered the new recruit timidly. "M-my name is-"

"Turncoat." The Chieftain gave him a long glare and the man finally nodded. "Get that bloody standard off if you want to go on living and come with me."

Turncoat nodded, hurriedly tearing the red standard from waistband and following the Chieftain as he strode away. He glanced back briefly at Lithina and she smiled with relief at him. When they were out of earshot the Shaman finally spoke.

"He's not going to make it easy for him."

"No," Lithina replied solemnly. "But he belongs here. Perhaps in time he can prove himself to the Chieftain. And certain other people."

She threw a look to Agar, who suddenly looked at the ground sheepishly and replaced his sword into his belt. The Shaman smiled again. The stark contrast between the hot-headed, vicious beast and shy little creature both continued to amuse her. It was quite reassuring actually to see this side of him. Too often recently all she had seen was the beast. There had been so many small attacks trying to pick their way through their defences, he hardly seemed to switch off that warrior mode he would go into anymore. She had begun to worry for him a little, seeing the passion and vigor with which he fought even scared her a little at times. At times it was easy to mistake him for a mad dog, rabid and hungry. It was nice to be reminded of side of him.

"I'm sure in time you will see what I have seen," Azura said to him.

He forced himself to look up at her and nod. _If you believe he is one of us_, he thought, _I'm sure I'll think so too someday. Perhaps. _He removed his hand from the hilt of blade and nodded again with more certainty. _Though that poor bastard is going to have a fun day with Father,_ he contemplated. Unable to decide if he felt sorry for Turncoat or not, he came to the conclusion that it was just an extension of how Remtor's sons had been treated. _Character building._

* * *

"Oh, you must have heard this tale!" Greyst exclaimed as a herd of giggling children swarmed around him, pulling at his robes with grubby fingers. He chuckled heartily at them. "Oh, alright, alright! Sit down then, one more before you go - but you lot can get the blame if I have angry parents round at my door!"

All the children squealed with delight as they quickly scurried into places close packed around Greyst who sat back down on the old tree trunk he had made a seat of. They sat cross legged, staring wide eyed at him, mouths ajar waiting for the wise old priest to speak. They loved his stories, though even the children took them with a pinch of salt. He was a fantastic orator and made even the most mundane of tales seem spectacular. Though when it came to storytelling, his tales were never mundane. Or particularly believable, but that didn't matter to the children, whose imaginations delighted in the things Greyst would tell them.

"Okay, now I know at least half of you know of what I'm about to tell you," he began, already dropping into his carefully paced story telling voice, dramatic pauses and inspiring inflections at the ready. "But for this story it is very important to understand the ways of the past. For in the olden days, we were not the only ones who walked the land of men..."

The children all leaned in, enthralled already by his wide eyes and enthusiastic manner. This man was made to tell stories and he loved it. He smiled out at them all. These lovely little moments allowed him to forget the turmoil of the past couple of weeks. Sat in the long golden grass, among the fluffy seed heads dancing in the breeze, it was so easy to forget.

"... for in the past, the Gods walked among us." The children squealed with excitement at his words. One young boy, with a concerned frown on his muddied face, raised his hand. Greyst nodded at him.

"Why did they go away?" asked the little boy. "What made them run away?" Greyst chuckled warmly.

"Ah, but they _didn't_ run away," he began again. "The Gods came to the land of mortals to meet the people here! You see, Gods are strong and powerful and infallible beings but they, like everyone, get lonely. But you see, with all the strength and the power and the knowledge comes consequences. As a result, it is said, Gods quite often don't get along. And so they would come down to our world to find friendship and, most importantly, love. And one by one, the Gods found soul mates among mortals. They would come down to the surface of our world to visit them and eventually, their mortal love would die."

The children all gasped, except the one little boy who eyed the priest with scrutiny.

"Oh, but for these mortals death was not as it is for you or I," he began reassuringly. "For when they died and their spirits made their way to the Overworld, those they loved were waiting for them and they now live together in eternity. Though as a result, there is less wild magic to the land, fewer miracles and far fewer rumbles in the earth or strange winds. No, as the Gods one by one had no reason to return, the turmoil of the land settled and the land we live in today is far safer than it ever was back then."

"But what 'bout the other tribes?" asked the boy.

"They are a danger to us, but it is far easier to struggle against a man than the land we live upon," he said sagely.

"So is it better that they are all gone?" the curious lad persisted.

"The good came with the bad. In the past, miracle often accompanied disaster," Greyst smiled gently at the boy. "Now, we make our own miracles. And I never said they were _all_ gone. For all we know there are still some Gods out there, who walk among mortals looking for their soul mate."

"Would we know one if we saw one?" the boy said shuffling closer, piercing eyes boring into Greyst.

"I doubt it," said the old priest with a smirk. "They hide as one of us! But perhaps they may be special people. You know, people with a strong purpose, a goal, and a gift with which to pursue it with. Like the swiftest and most graceful hunter! The most fierce and skilled warrior! Take note young ones, for they may not be all that they appear. Now, back to this story..."

"High Priest," came a voice behind him, causing him to turn his attention away from the young ones.

"Ahh, Alphrus, how are you dear boy?" Greyst asked jovially, his eyes meeting with the glistening blue of the messenger's.

"I am well, thank you," he replied with a smile. "My father sends word that he may be slightly late. There's been an... interesting development."

"Ah, that is fine, just fine," the old priest crooned. "As you can see, ha, I've been a little held up myself. Is this a private matter or may I ask?" The children all turned their attention onto the new man and them two of them began waving excitedly at him.

"Ha," Alphrus exclaimed, waving back at them. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you!"

* * *

The son returned, finally finding his father after a little effort. It was with a smirk that he noticed Remtor, leaning nonchalantly against a hut, supervising the man now known as Turncoat shifting wood from one spot to another about thirty feet away.

"I thought we'd moved that wood so we could put up an extra tower there?" he questioned as he approached. His father grinned.

"Oh don't worry," he answered knowingly. "I'll have him move it back when he's done."

"It doesn't quite settle right, does it?" Alphrus asked as he leaned next to his father. "Having one of 'them' around."

"Not at all," Remtor said, his eyes firmly locked on Turncoat as he struggled with the huge, uncut logs. They were really meant to be carried by two. "How are my grandchildren?"

"Two of them are enjoying some tall tales from High Priest Greyst," he smirked. "Who, by the way, said not to worry about being late."

"I should have known," Remtor chuckled. "That man and his stories." He glanced over at his son, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. Normally, the only way to get him to stop talking was with threats and that didn't always stop him. Alphrus peered out at the man trying to shift wood but that clearly wasn't what was on his mind. He sensed the Chieftain noticing this and sighed.

"I found it strange at first, seeing how you were with Agar since he became the 'guard' or whatever," he began, not looking at his father. "And then the more I thought about it the more I realised it had always been that way."

"Excuse me?" Remtor pushed himself off the hut and turned to face his son.

"You always took more time for him though, didn't you?" Alphrus asked indignantly.

"Shouldn't I?" the Chieftain retorted bluntly. "He lacked something you boys didn't and it was my fault."

"So we were worth less thanks to your mistake?" he shot back immediately.

"You dare talk to me that way?" Remtor flared, taking a step toward his eldest who shied away.

"Forgive me, father." Remtor shook his head slightly in disappointment. So far only one of his sons had shown the backbone to truly stand up to him.

"Say it," the Chieftain demanded, his voice stern and harsh.

"It's just..." the son began cautiously. "Even now you simper after the boy and what of your other sons?"

"My other sons?" the Chieftain asked incredulously. "Let me tell you of my other sons. For the most part they have wives and even children to bear their attentions. My youngest however has no one. Let me ask you, Alphrus, how often did you ever listen to your brother?"

"What are you talking about?" Alphrus started, appearing genuinely confused by Remtor's words. "We speak with him all the time! Or did, before the coming of the Shaman at least."

"You spoke at him, yes." Remtor's eyes met Alphrus' with an icy stare. "But when did you or any of the others take the time to try and listen to what he had to say?"

Alphrus opened his mouth to defend himself and his brothers but no sound came. He had no argument and he knew it. The most response any of them had ever waited for from Agar was a nod, a head shake or a glare. That was the most _anyone_ he could think of ever waited for from him. Except Remtor. He'd never even really noticed before now.

"As I thought," the Chieftain continued. "I paid such heed to your brother because he needed me too. Believe me boy, I know how fond you are of having your opinions known, imagine if you were in his shoes, virtually ignored by all? You question my success as a father when you have failed so drastically as a brother?"

Alphrus sunk back a little, blushing a little in his shame. Remtor exhaled raggedly, shaking his head a little more. What a time for a petulant child! Agar's polar opposite, Alphrus had always fought for attention but Remtor had mistakenly thought he had matured a little. He turned his attention back to Turncoat briefly to ensure he hadn't stopped.

"I need you thinking properly, boy," he began, softening his voice a little. "Tomorrow that devil is taking a small group to the Dakini's home... and I'm going with them." Alphrus snapped his head round to gawk at his father. "Don't argue, you won't change my mind. But I'm leaving _you_ in charge. So sort yourself out!"

"Yes, father," he responded immediately, shocked at the news.

"And remember, contrary to popular belief, when you are in charge you are the _least_ important person in the tribe. Everyone else comes before yourself. Understand?" His stern eyes examined Alphrus, who nodded unsurely. "Good. Because if I don't come out of the belly of that beast you're taking over. Do not disappoint me."

He nodded again, smiling a little. He never thought he would have the chance to have such a position within the tribe. It had always been the way that while every child of a chieftain would have blue eyes, only the one destined to lead would himself have blue eyed offspring. Alphrus' children's eyes were dark like the rest of the villagers. To say he was honoured by his father's gesture would have been an understatement.

Remtor returned himself to the wall and returned his attention to the struggling Turncoat. _Into the darkness,_ he thought to himself. They might just have a chance. Their attentions would be on guarding their perimeter and their tower. The scroll had been in their possession for centuries. With any luck it would be lightly guarded, long forgotten. He exhaled deeply, anticipating tomorrow, starting to think through all the things that could go wrong and all the things they needed to do. He suddenly grinned widely as he remembered the nonsense from earlier in the day. What an idea, why hadn't he thought of it before? They would succeed alright because they had the ultimate weapon at their finger tips.

They possessed chaos itself.


	10. Section 2 Chapter 2

**Section 2: The Rise of the Sun**

**Chapter 2: Uncommon Thieves**

Agar sat, back against the wall, running a sharpening stone along the blade of his sword with slow deliberate strokes, the grate then the 'ting' resonating loudly in the silence of the Chieftain's hut. _Shiiiing... Shiiiing... Shiiiing... _He looked up as he saw one of the shadows moving to see Delan looking over his shoulder, glaring at him. As he grinned back wickedly, the crunch around his eyes let Delan know that the hidden grin was there and that, yes, Agar was doing this just to annoy him.

The High Priest scrunched his nose in disgust at the boy before turning his attention back to the Shaman, who sat in the Chieftain's chair. Sat in a semi circle in front of her were the three High Priests; the Chieftain, plus three of his best warriors; and Turncoat, tucked away at the end of the line with his face down. He ached all over from moving those damn trees and words could not express how grateful he was to be sat down. However he was still completely on edge and the short bastard with the sword was not helping. With every stroke of that sharpening stone he flinched slightly.

_Shiiiing... Shiiiing... Shiiiing... _

"You see fit to keep your shaman waiting," Delan suddenly stated, leaning forward to glare at Remtor. "Again." A particularly enthusiastic _SHIIIING _filled the air, making Delan flinch as well.

"Perhaps while we wait," the Shaman began diplomatically. "We can straighten out one or two other issues. For instance, are we certain that we can get safely into the town?" She turned her attention to Turncoat.

"There is a way along the coastline," he began weakly, his voice quiet and timid. "It's a hard hike but a small group could make it up there. Because of this it's very poorly guarded, a single patrol that spans a mile along the coast. Never more than four men, usually two."

"I imagine there is good reason they don't feel the need to guard it well," the Chieftain said, turning his judgemental gaze upon Turncoat. "What makes you think this will actually be an advantage to us?"

_Shiiiing... Shiiiing... Shiiiing..._

"I know that way in and out of the village like the back of my hand," Turncoat replied, still not looking up. "I have done since I was a child. If you can handle the hike and the patrol, then there's good cover, trees you can hide in and see the whole town. It brings you down the mountain side hidden, right into the back of the village."

"It sounds good," Azura's gentle voice rang out. "What about towers?"

"None, it's too hard to get the wood up there," Turncoat stated matter of factly. "The closest towers to where the path will bring us out are by the temple, but we'll have other problems by then."

"It sounds almost too perfect," grumbled Remtor sceptically. Another extra menacing _shiiiing_ rang out.

"You may not say the same during the hike," the traitor said, finally braving raising his head to peer at the Chieftain. They shared a brief moment glaring at each other before they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Enter," the Shaman said quickly before another argument could begin. As Allan and Edvy entered, Delan's face contorted with indignation.

_Shii-_

Agar's stroke stopped abruptly as the two glanced down at him and grinned dumbly. The silent warrior's eyes flicked cautiously between his father and the two new comers before he gave them a slight, almost unnoticeable nod. Remtor's sharp eye saw however and he furrowed his brow for a moment, apparently surprised by their familiarity. It took him a pause but eventually he emitted a small groan and covered his face with his palm.

"Oh Gods, now I know why you two were so familiar," he muttered shaking his head. The two grinned sheepishly and Agar sunk down in his seated position as much as he could, as though trying to disappear through the floor. He gently set the sharpening stone to his side, now unwilling to draw any additional attention to himself but this didn't hide him from Delan's loathsome glares.

"Not so arrogant when reminded who you were before your privileged little position, hmm mongrel?"

"Enough!" Azura's uncharacteristic outburst was enough to snatch everyone's attention. She could feel Agar's pulsing anger beating in her chest but he stayed put in his sunken position. "Now that everyone is here can we please hear you plan, Chieftain? With _no_ interruptions," she added irritably, turning the hollow stare of the mask on Delan.

"Of course, Shaman. Thanks to our new 'friend' here we have our route in," the Chieftain began through a clenched jaw, taking care to not allow his eyes to fall upon Delan. "What we need is something to allow us to sneak through the town undetected. That's where our drunken fishermen come in."

Everyone turned to look at them, even Agar peered up curiously. He knew those men, his only friends before Azura, and he knew their skills. He was left wondering what in the world they could bring to this battle, and he was not the only one. Even Allan and Edvy themselves had a look of confused worry upon their faces. They were good at fishing and drinking and getting in trouble. None of these seemed particularly useful for the current predicament.

"These men, along with a little help," Remtor continued, throwing a look to an embarrassed Agar who pretended, poorly, not to notice. "Are responsible for more destruction and chaos over the years than _all_ our enemy combined." The three trouble makers exchanged increasingly worried glances, Agar sinking again a little lower, practically laying down now in his effort to vanish from sight. "So what do we do with what was quite possibly our biggest problem from before this war reclaimed us? Simple. We make them someone else's problem."

* * *

The Shaman sat quietly, listening in surprise to Delan as he talked. She had only been there a little while and already she was seeing a side to him that she never even knew was there. She had fought tooth and nail to try and get out of this dinner but now she couldn't help think that perhaps she _had_ been wrong about him. This definitely was not how she had expected the evening to go, at least.

Delan's hut had been separated up into two sections by use of a silk sheet so that she may eat while remaining hidden. The hut itself, in true Delan fashion, seemed exceptionally and unnecessarily grand. It was littered with exquisite pillows and throws all of the highest quality and the actual building was made of the finest wood and with the most skilled craftsmanship and even had more than one room. The whole building was a testament to his vanity and yet that side of him had yet to show itself this evening.

As he spoke she heard none of the arrogant, loathsome man she knew before. No, just an insecure one, seemingly trying to hide behind some sort of facade. She briefly considered that he was trying to work her but she'd seen his lying capabilities several times before, the woefully poor attempts at trying to twist and manipulate her. This was actually convincing. With a smile she thought about the possibility that he had perhaps thought he was always acting in the interest of the tribe. Perhaps he was just doing what he believed was right. The idea comforted her, the thought of one of her own High Priests working against her had been stressful to say the least. Such a person could not be removed without questions.

He continued on his everlasting spiel but for once she didn't mind at all.

* * *

"'Ello kid," the familiar voice rang out. "Long while no talk, eh?"

Agar snapped his head up out of the dream world he'd been visiting to see his old friends stood over him, both with a sack over their shoulder. They were both grinning like idiots, as was their way. He couldn't help but join in. They reminded him of easier times, when his life was his own. Agar had been sat guarding outside Delan's overly lavish home while the Shaman was forced into his company. That's how he liked to think of it anyway. Allan and Edvy sat down, cross legged, in front of him, just like they always did when they had some mad plot, and the pair of them began pulling odds and ends out of their sacks.

"Okay, so the other day I heard this great one, right," Allan began enthusiastically, handing Agar a wad of loose hemp. Him and Edvy began fashioning it into a thin rope as Allan told possibly the most coarse joke either Agar or Edvy had ever heard and they were all transported back to a few weeks ago, no cares or no worries at all. They sat and talked about everything and nothing, laughing and joking, just three young friends again. These two had always made Agar feel so _normal _like no one else had. He was just a normal guy and this was just a normal time. He missed hanging around with them, even though he got in a lot less mischief now. Eventually the ruckus died down and the three of them sat in silence for a moment as they worked on the ropes among other things. Allan was the first to break the peace as he sat with a grinding bowl, usually used for cereal grains, crushing up a black powder.

"Nice this," he said, smiling at the ground between them. "You know, since we'll most likely be dead tomorrow, eh?" He chuckled, the other two joining in after a moment.

Agar grinned widely behind his bandana and shook his head. The other two snickered more at him as he raised his hand, shaking his finger at them then pointing to himself. _Nope, not me._

"Nah, not you," Edvy beamed. "Or better not be you anyway, we're counting on you to come save our asses!"

Agar nodded enthusiastically, bringing his comparatively scrawny arms up and flexing them with mock bravado, bringing himself up on one knee for effect.

"Alright, alright!" Allan laughed. "Put them away, 'Muscles'!"

Just at that moment, as Agar was posing and Allan and Edvy rolling with laughter, the Shaman and Delan emerged from the hut. There was an awkward moment when everyone froze, a few still seconds that felt like forever, before Allan and Edvy managed to roll themselves round into a traditional prostrate bow and Agar drew himself up from his knee to stand smartly at attention, releasing the hemp he held from his grasp. Another awkward few seconds passed. The Shaman saw Delan puffing up in anger from the corner of her eye and decided to act before he could. She'd hate to have the illusion of tonight shattered.

"Preparing for tomorrow?" she asked innocently. Fortunately Delan knew to hold his tongue after she had addressed them.

"Yes, Shaman!" the fishermen replied rapidly in synch.

"Excellent!" she exclaimed brightly, smirking behind the mask as she saw every muscle in Delan's body clench and saw the shudder of Agar's shoulders that told her he was desperately trying not to laugh. "Though remember to get some rest, we leave early tomorrow."

"Yes, Shaman," they answered again, though without the franticness of before. Azura inclined her head to Delan by way of a 'goodnight' and set off back toward the temple. Agar cast an amused glance to Allan and Edvy as they grinned up at him, they too having to fight off the urge to fall about laughing again, before he hurried off after the Shaman.

They had only been walking a few minutes before Azura reached behind her, grabbing a surprised Agar roughly by the arm and yanking him forward to her side. The Shaman had quite an arm on her and combined with his shock he almost stumbled to the ground. He glanced up at her, blushing a little as he regained his balance. He took the hint though and continued to walk by her side.

"That's better," she said gently. "How many times must I tell you?" He never looked up from peering at the ground but the crease of his cheek suggested to her that he was smiling.

"They were your friends?" she inquired curiously. "Back before all this?"

He nodded, shooting a quick shy look her way.

"Do you think they are good enough at what they do for tomorrow?"

He nodded again, this time with a definite certainty. _Not a doubt in my mind,_ he thought, his mind wandering a little to times passed.

"Good," she said with a slightly relieved sigh. "It's going to be tight. It was nice to see none of you were letting the stress get to you, though." He blushed again, keeping his eyes firmly locked on the ground ahead of him. "You need to relax some of the time. We all do. I was actually quite surprised at how pleasant my evening was. There is more to that man than I thought."

She gasped inaudibly as she suddenly felt a jab of emotion, a swift stab of malcontent to her gut. She placed one hand over her stomach at the shock of it and she took note of her guard, whose eyes now glared at the path ahead. He really hated Delan and she couldn't blame him. He took every opportunity to insult or malign Agar despite all he had done for the tribe, for her, since he became the Guard.

But after that night she couldn't help but feel that part of it was some sort of self defence mechanism Delan had. All these years he and Remtor had been butting heads and fighting for dominance. Delan's weasely nature had convinced her Remtor was solely in the right but now she was not so sure. Perhaps she had misjudged his insecurities and what she saw as a scheming wretch was really just a weak man trying to do his best for the tribe. No matter how up in the air her feelings now were for Delan, there was no doubt as to what emotions projected onto her from Agar. Nothing but hate.

* * *

"These are dangerous times, my dear," Greyst pleaded gently. She looked back at him with that bright and hopeful smile. They had been through this conversation many times before, always to the same end. He longed for her to join him in the safety of the village. It would take some explaining but how could they turn away one elderly woman? Especially with the acceptance of the Dakini man. No, she would be welcomed. He returned his attention briefly to the game board and moved a piece. He was winning quite spectacularly.

"I've lived out 'ere all me life, love," she answered, moving one of her game pieces as she did so. "An' trust me, it were a lot more dangerous back 'en, I can tell ya!"

She gave him a loving yet stern gaze, her face lit by candle light. Greyst sighed gently. He knew he couldn't change her mind but he still felt the need to try. He glanced around her small home, cold and damp, their long shadows dancing on the hole-ridden walls as the candle flames flickered from the draught. He'd even tried to get her to let him fix up this run down building but she would hear none of it.

"The war has returned here," he continued on hopefully. "This peninsula is no longer a safe haven for the wild folk."

"You worry far too much, my sweet," she said, smirking knowingly. "Trust me, my darleen', men 'ho go 'round botherin' ol' ladies get everythin' 'at's comin' to 'em." She moved another piece on the board and grinned wickedly at him. "An' I believe I just won."

* * *

It was early morning when the nine of them set out, the sun had barely started rising. Thin slivers of crimson light pierced through the darkness leaving orange tendrils to snake outward through the wispy clouds overhead. To say the air was crisp would have been an understatement, the turn of the seasons was well underway. They walked mostly in silence as Turncoat led them down the path to the Centre of the World. The trees stood tall and dark on either side of them, leering ominously over them. Perhaps it was just the anticipation of the task ahead but everything this morning seemed a little more grim than usual.

Edvy walked with a large sack over one shoulder while Agar and Allan walked in tandem, each supporting one end of a large wrapped up bundle on each shoulder. When the three were asked earlier what all the stuff was the only reply they got was: 'You're going to love it'. Whatever it was, it looked like they had put a lot of effort into bringing it all together. What they had planned was anyone's guess. While they had caused a lot of grief over the years, they were at least inventive about it.

Eventually the path gave out and they emerged from the forest to the Centre of the World. The sun had finished rising now and the bright light of this cold morning illuminated the empty meadow before them. Golden, waist height grass stood eerily still due to the lack of any apparent breeze and was entwined with numerous different types of wildflowers, adding hints of colour throughout. The place looked truly wild, the only thing to let them know this land was frequented was the lanes of trodden down grass, crushed beneath the feet of moving armies.

Turncoat stepped forward and pointed toward to the south-east where dark looming cliffs stood in the distance. He began toward them, wading through the grass with a suspicious Remtor close behind. The Shaman went closely after, brushing her fingers through the foliage as she went. The remaining six took a brief moment before carrying on, they were slightly more struck at being this far from home than the others. This was the farthest anyone of the tribe had been from their lands in a long, long time. They travelled to truly unknown places now, the only certainty was the danger that lay ahead. The screech of a crow in the distance sent fearsome tingles down their spines. They exchanged worried glances before one by one heading off after the others.

They had been crouched there, hiding away for Gods knew how long, waiting for the signal from Allan and Edvy, though the time was thanked for. A 'hard hike' was possibly the most laughably under exaggerated statement they'd ever heard, given that half of the journey there they were scaling cliff faces. With their bundles of tricks they had snuck away around to the other side of the Dakini town to set up their 'distractions'. None of them had any idea what to expect except Agar and he was rather looking forward to it. Normally, their antics were very restrained, not really wanting to cause too much damage in their own home. But here? Now _this_ was a different story.

Remtor was anxious. He didn't like leaving such responsibility on those two idiots but even he knew if anyone could do this, it was them. They didn't make it any easier though, when asked when they should move it their response was simply: "Trust us, you'll know." _Just what in the Underworld are they planning?_ He thought irritably. _They had better be as good as they think they a-_

His train of thought was suddenly halted as over at the far side of the village there was an eruption of flames spouting up high, pieces of thatch and planks of wood flying up and scattering themselves across the village. A painfully loud roar accompanied like the cry of thunder overhead and thick, black smoke began to plume upward. They barely had time to take it all in before another two huts went up in a similar fashion, the sound forcing them to clamp their hands over their ears in shock.

The screams began almost immediately and a mass exodus from houses and guard posts began, all charging to the other end of the village to help or defend. The panic and confusion of the Dakini was visible even from their high vantage point on the cliff's path. Remtor suddenly realised that the Shaman and Agar had already started off toward the village, not wasting a single moment. He shot off after them and the rest of the entourage after him.

Down at the other end of town the flames began to spread quickly but people were already running with buckets of water. There was only so much water they could keep in the village though. It wouldn't be long before they had to start running to the ocean to quell the flames. The coast wasn't far from here but far enough. He waited, waited, waited for them to come, all buckets in hand, waiting, waiting, waiting.

"Now!" Allan whispered harshly to Edvy and both of the hauled on the hemp rope. It sprung up out of the ground, pulling taut at ankle height and tripping a whole row of Dakini, spilling their limited water uselessly across the dusty ground.

Allan slapped Edvy victoriously on the shoulder with a grin before they both moved deeper into the forest in an effort to remain hidden as panic, screams and a blazing inferno were left to their backs.

Azura had managed slip into the village without being noticed, this end now seemingly deserted in the efforts to stop the fire. As her and Agar crept hurriedly around huts they were brought to a sudden stop as they came face to face with two warriors who had not abandoned their responsibility of guarding the scroll. They were ready, the explosions having put them on high alert. As they both charged forward Azura dispatched one with a flaming sphere to his face while Agar took care of the other. Both quickly ducked into the hut the men had been guarding.

Azura spared no time in hurrying forward toward the pedestal against the back wall. Agar gave the room a quick glance, just to be sure. They were alone in a bare room; the only things in there were the pedestal and two lit candles to either side of it. Tall, red runes were painted across the walls, making him feel so alien here.

As Agar took a defensive stance in front of the entrance, the Shaman quickly opened the scroll and began reading it, her eyes darting across the paper in snap movements back and forth. As she read it though it wasn't as though she was reading it. She was absorbing it. The cold sting of mana behind her eyes began to flare almost painfully and she could feel her flesh that touched the scroll turning to ice, the cold snaking up through her arms. A commotion could be heard outside but she kept reading. She had to finish or this would have been for naught.

The sounds became suddenly more alive as she heard the clang of swords behind her, Agar was in trouble. But she had to finish this. Despite every fibre of her being screaming at her to turn and help him, something was there stopping her. Something rang in the back of her mind, this scroll was more important, she had to finish, she had to. That was her job now; she had to accept that sometimes people die for a greater good. She could feel her old self rebelling against it, begging for her to turn and help but her new self, the Shaman, knew better.

Agar kept close to the door, trying to bottle-neck the approaching waves of men, trying to fight them one at a time. He fought hard, three, five, seven men had come and fallen but with each one they pushed him back a little more. He was beginning to worry at the struggle when cold air suddenly blast around him, light pouring into the room as the thatch was torn apart. Both him and his assailants looked up in shock to see a violent cone of air writing furiously above them. They all scattered, Agar included, away from the newly formed twister as it tore the rest of the building apart. Everything was happening so fast he hadn't even had a chance to think about what had happened to his father and the others.

In the centre of the wreckage stood Azura, arms held skyward and the head of her staff glowing with energy as the mana within her was bent to her will. A group of Dakini men near Agar suddenly began screaming with fear as the ground beneath their feet softened and distorted into a cross between quicksand and marsh, the men seemingly dragged down into the swampy depths and taking with them anyone who dared try and help them.

"_SHOKA!_" Agar snapped his head round as he heard the word harshly shrieked over the commotion, the shaman in red having appeared out of the rapidly growing crowd of Dakini warriors.

He lurched forward to where Azura's limp frame collided lifelessly with the ground, skidding on his knees the last two feet to her side. He grabbed her shoulders and gently but hurriedly shook her in an attempt to rouse her. His heart dropped as a white light began to permeate her skin. He had heard of what happened before, what happened when she died. This time was apparently no different. He wasn't given long to mourn her loss as he heard rapidly approaching feet from behind.

Without looking, he hoisted his sword over his head to pierce the chest of a man behind him, thanking the Gods for the lucky positioning of his shadow. As the man fell, Agar was able to spring up and begin defending himself against the next two Dakini warriors to come at him. He slashed and hacked, relying solely on his speed to allow him to strike before they had the chance, all the while behind him the graceful white light of the Shaman's disappearing corpse danced around them and drifted upward. He wasn't sure how long this lasted but after a time they stopped coming at him.

Agar felt the hope abandoning him as the last flecks light dissipated. A sea of Dakini warriors flooded around him but none attacked. Their shaman stood before him, the hollow glare of her mask set upon him as her army waited for instruction. He had a very bad feeling about this, if his end were to be a simple one it would have come by now. What were they waiting for? Eventually she spoke, her voice shrill and malevolent.

"My, my, my," she began, her mocking tone enraging him. "What do we have here? The Iztek Guard? Not much to look at, are we?" The crowd around him all laughed. Laughed at him.

He could feel them, a thousand cruel eyes watching him, judging him. He wanted to vanish, disappear. He wasn't afraid of dying. He had helped the Shaman learn the ways of the fire warriors. She may have died but the mission was a success. He could die happy now, knowing that someone more worthy would become her new guard and protect her better than he had. But he couldn't stand this. He couldn't hide away or blend into the back ground. He was on full display, some sort of sick amusement for his enemies. His heart pounded violently as though it wanted to escape his chest as much as he wanted to escape this situation.

"Though, for someone who could easily be mistaken for a small child," the scathing shaman went on, "you do seem to have an awful lot of my men dead at your feet. Perhaps you aren't as much of a _joke_ as you look."

A man stepped up to her side who easily matched the height and mass of Remtor. His hair was extremely short, as though growing back after having it shaved, and he held a huge wooden club one hand. There was not a single blemish nor scar visible on his skin. The only exception would be on the upper left of his chest where, in a bright crimson red, a Shaman's Eye was etched.

"Now this is what a guard should look like," she said. Agar couldn't decide what was more smug - her voice or his face. "Do you see a challenge there, Guard?"

"I see an insect," he replied, sneering at Agar as the tiny man lowered himself into a slightly more defensive stance.

"Squash it," she answered. The Dakini Guard's face burst into a dark grin as the crowd cheered. He began to move forward Agar brought up his shield so that only his eyes peered over the top and took a couple of steps back.

"Afraid?" asked the cocky giant before him. "You should be. Do you see a single scratch or scar upon this _perfect_ form? Of course you don't. No man has ever been able to lay a single scratch upon me! You will be no different. Even if you were miraculously skilled enough to strike me, I doubt someone of your stature could even muster up the strength to break the skin."

The mob cackled and Agar's face burned with anger. He could feel it radiate from him in waves; he could feel the blood pumping behind his eyes. The beast before him talked so casually because Agar wasn't even a threat. He was nothing. The jeering mob didn't help, with every passing second he just felt smaller and angrier, smaller and angrier. And finally, the Dakini man came at him with a speed his size shouldn't have allowed. And then there was silence.

The crowd had suddenly muted, their faces frozen in whatever shape they were in at the time. There was a brief moment of calm and stillness while the Dakini Guard reached around and felt the wetness on his back, only to stare in disbelief at the blood now on his hand. He was fast, far faster than anyone could have expected him to be, and he knew it. But somehow, _somehow_, this little insect had stepped under his blow and brought down a huge gash upon his back before he could even turn.

He turned now though with hatred in his eyes, to see Agar behind him, his defences raised again. His eyes lingered for a moment at, for the first time in his life, his own blood dripping from another man's sword. Suddenly he released an agonised scream as he charged yet again at Agar, any and all swagger he had prior now gone. This little weasel would pay.

He brought his club down over Agar, who easily sidestepped the blow. As it crashed into the ground with a shuddering 'thud', the Iztek took the opportunity to slash at his side, all he could realistically do from where he stood. The Dakini man howled again as the blade sliced through his flesh, recovering a lot more quickly this time. Agar's sword had barely left him before he had already raised his club and turned, swinging his it wide as he did. Agar only just had time to bring his shield round to block it.

As the club collided with the shield he felt his arm almost break from the force, the shield pushed back to crash into his body and the swing lifting him off his feet. He felt as though he had just been hit with a tidal wave, his mind barely computing what had just happened before he landed heavily on his back. Despite just having the wind well and truly beat from him he managed to force himself to move the instant he landed, rolling to his side and springing to his feet just in time to see the gargantuan club pummel the spot he had narrowly escaped.

He took the all too short moment it took for the Dakini Guard to recover, panting heavily, desperately trying to get his breath back and lose the sickening feeling the blow had inflicted on him. Time wasn't kind to him though and he could barely drag in two lungfuls before his assailant was upon him again. The beast's club was swung viciously at Agar's legs who leapt over it, bringing his sword down onto the brute's shoulder.

This didn't slow him, it just made him more enraged, the swings went on and Agar continued to duck and dodge, weaving in and out of blows. The crowd watched on in shock, jeering and heckling. Never had they seen their guard be struck in battle and yet here was some tiny little spit of a man, consistently avoiding the swiftest and most skilled of their warriors and little by little adding more and more gashes across his body. Some of the Dakini had even begun making wagers with one another.

A large shout rose up from the crowd as the Dakini Guard slammed another pounding blow into Agar's shield, knocking him back a few feet. He just managed to keep his balance but his opponent was relentless, not giving him time to recuperate from the crushing force against his rapidly tiring arm. The Dakini man saw the strain each blow caused on Agar and saw his chance. That boy's pathetic frame would not be able to hold out for long against his strength. He immediately lunged forward, slamming his club against Agar's shield, not giving him to chance to do anything but block it. As expected, the strength of the blow wracked through the diminutive lad, knocking him sideways. He'd only just got both his feet back on the ground when another blow came from above. He hauled his shield up, needing to reinforce it with his other hand just to keep his arm from snapping. He hadn't had time to brace himself properly and so the swing caused his legs to give way beneath him and the shield to be pushed right down against his face.

He didn't think, just instinctively rolled to the side, sparing himself another smack from the club, shuddering as the vibrations from it being buried into the ground next to him ran through his body. Before he knew what was happening he was on his feet again, staring face to face with his attacker once more. The Dakini man snarled in anger at his tenacity but the truth was Agar's body ached all over and the effort in holding his shield up was unfathomable. He couldn't go on much longer and he knew it. The sound all around him had begun to fade away. His whole body trembled. But he wasn't afraid. He didn't care. All he could think, the only thing that sprung to mind, the only thing that mattered at all to him, was: _I made that bastard bleed._

He began laughing manically in silence but the Dakini Guard didn't need the sound. He just _knew_ this psychotic little man was laughing, he had seen the movement before. The boy had to be mad, he just _had_ to be completely insane. That was the only thing that could account for him, at least in this Dakini's eyes. The crowd realised as well what was going on and a shocked silence fell upon them. They actually felt a little scared. The tales of old were true. The Iztek really were insane.

Agar suddenly charged at his opponent, landing another fierce gash over his chest. The guard quickly snapped out of his shock and struck back, landing another harsh smack to Agar's shield, the clang of the metal ringing out over the silence. It knocked Agar over but he rolled to his feet and immediately went to attack again. He was going to lose this fight, there was no denying it. He was going to die today but by the Gods themselves he was going down swinging. He was tired and could hardly hold himself up but he would die a proud warrior's death. He would die his father's son.

The swing of a club.

Dodge.

The hack of a blade.

Blood.

The swing of a club.

_CLANG_ of a shield.

The swing of a club.

_CLANG!_

The swing-

_CLANG!_

Swing, dodge, cut, swing, _CLANG_, swing, dodge, cut, cut, swing, blood, _THUD!_

The tiredness had finally over taken him, he had barely any energy left. Finally he had become too tired and his moves too sluggish. He couldn't move in time and the Dakini man knew it. He knew this was coming and wanted to make it good. Grabbing his club with his other hand, he took a weak cut against his arm to make the shattered boy before him leave himself open after the swing, and attacked in an two-handed, upward stroke directly to the centre of Agar's chest.

On impact he felt a handful of his ribs snap instantly and he was knocked clean off his feet, sent flying backwards through the air. His sword fell free of his hand and his shield only stayed with him due to the strap. He landed with another _thud_ onto his back and slid across the ground a few feet, grating his back along the rough and dusty surface. In his mind he tried to get up again but his body didn't even move. It couldn't.

He saw a few blurry faces leaning over him upside down and assumed he must have been knocked clean to the side of the makeshift ring they fought in. There were sounds, he was vaguely aware, but he didn't know what they were. Or care. He was far too tired. Blinking a few times, his vision became slightly clearer. He ran his tongue over the top of his mouth curiously, trying to figure out what that awful taste was. For some reason, most likely exhaustion, he found this far more interesting than all the Dakini now surrounding him. _Ah,_ he realised after a moment. _Blood_.

"He's... he's still alive," someone said after a moment. Agar blinked a few more times and realised one of the men stood over him was the Guard. He was absolutely covered in open wounds. He couldn't help but grin behind his mask.

"Well, colour me impressed," the Shaman uttered from somewhere. "Skill like that should not be wasted. Shame you're a runt otherwise we may have had use for you." The Dakini guard's eyes flared with anger at Agar. "Take him to the prison. I wish to have words with him later. Make sure he is properly 'welcome', won't you?"

_Wait, this isn't right,_ Agar thought, his mind barely functioning in his confused, exhausted state. _You're supposed to kill me... What's going on? What are you... you..._ For the first time he began to fear - and to show it. His eyes widened as he tried to snatch his arms away from the hands of two Dakini men frantically but even in his desperation his movements were slow and weak. They managed to pick him up, one arm each, his legs dangling uselessly above the ground. As he was hauled up pain tore through his chest, only exacerbated by the deep breaths his body was trying to draw.

"So, finally something you fear, hmm?" said the woman in red asked mockingly. "You aren't a complete fool after all then. Take him away."

He was vaguely aware of the motion as the two men carried him off. As his head slumped forward and his vision began to fade to black, he prayed to the Gods. He prayed for help. Help in dying before he would ever reach that prison.

* * *

Remtor and Turncoat finally stopped, both panting desperately for breath, both suffering from many superficial wounds. They didn't know how far back along the path they had made it but they had to stop for breath no matter. About thirty seconds passed of the two of them just leaning against the rocks breathing heavily before Turncoat was startled by Remtor, releasing a short and furious howl. Another few seconds passed.

"I... I'm sorry," Turncoat managed to weakly utter, fearful of a backlash but feeling the need to say it anyway. Remtor said nothing for a moment. He leaning over, resting his hands on this thighs, drawing ragged breaths.

"Do not be sorry, Turncoat," Remtor finally replied after a few minutes. "Our mission was to get the scroll. From what we saw, the mission was accomplished. The men who died in helping that come to pass died with honour." There was a paused where is voice caught in this throat, before he added, in barely more than a whisper: "Including my son."

As their descent into the Dakini town had begun, Agar and the Shaman had managed to get far ahead of them - a fortunate turn of events as it had transpired. The small band of warriors had tried to pursue them, only to be interrupted by a group of Dakini. The battle had been barely won, with only the two of them left standing, when they saw the Shaman being struck down and Agar disappearing into a sea of warriors. There were so many, he wouldn't have lasted thirty seconds and there was nothing they could do about it.

Another few awkward moments passed while Remtor remained still, eyes clamped closed, holding his forehead with one hand, obviously trying to remain to stoic figure he had always been seen as. Turncoat moved away, walking to the cliff edge and peering out over the sea. The man, however harsh he had been on Turncoat, deserved his privacy. There were few things in the world worse than losing a child. He sighed, drinking in the view and wiping away a single tear from his face.

"We need to move on," Remtor said from behind him, his voice already changed back to the voice of solid, immovable leader. Turncoat nodded and followed the Chieftain, throwing one last longing glance to that view, sighing sadly as his childhood hideaway had become, to him, a warzone made of fear and sorrow.

* * *

The room was small and well lit by four torches in the corners of the room. The walls were thick and sturdy and the floor was made of strong planks and seemed to be covered in loose straw or hay. It was also spattered in blood. At one end of the room was a table with a number of different blades and odd implements on it, all also covered with blood. Along one wall were several sets of heavy metal manacles. Only one set was currently in use.

Agar's throat was raw from all the screaming his body had tried to do. He'd been here for about three hours now, being beaten and abused continually throughout. They never seemed to give up or get tired of it. Every now and then through the pain he would catch the odd word or manage to hear a laugh but overall the only thing that now existed in his world was the agony being inflicted upon him. Though he didn't know what would have been worse, the torture or being able to hear their jokes and taunts. At least the blinding anguish he felt meant that he could not see how pathetic and low he was right now.

The two men stopped finally, taking a few steps back from him and continuing to laugh and talk with each other. Agar just sat still, trying to let his brain catch up with the overwhelming situation he was stuck in. He hadn't had a chance to just sit and think. Through the battle his mind had been focused entirely. Then he was unconscious. He was then awoke by having cold water thrown over him and the torture had begun. Every time his body tried to pass out again they had stopped him and throughout all of this he was completely unable to string one coherent thought together. Now though, there was stillness. All he could taste or smell was his own fresh blood. He felt his frantically spinning mind finally begin to slow. With every passing moment he was becoming more aware again.

It was with a wash of relief that he saw the two men leave. Through aching eyes he peered around the room, trying to take in what was happening. He only just realized now that he was forced standing by a high set of manacles, his toes only just touching the ground. It wasn't enough to support his weight though and he could see trickles of blood seeping down his arms from his restraints as his wrists became worn away. He couldn't feel it though, the numbness having come over his arms a long time ago.

His eyes were suddenly drawn to the centre of the room where a strange man stood. Agar narrowed his eyes at him. No one had entered and no one had been there before. Blink, blink. He was a very tall man, swathed in grand black robes with contrasting alabaster skin and hair to match it that fell messily about his face. Intimidating red eyes stared into Agar's own, chilling him. _Fantastic, _Agar thought bitterly to himself. _Now I'm hallucinating as well._

"Hello, boy," the man said, a cruel smirk forming on his lips as his eyes travelled over Agar's beaten form. "So you are the one I've been hearing _so_ much about. Not quite what I was expecting, I'll admit."

Agar furrowed his brows at the stranger, not caring if he took offense to his obvious hostility. What could this man do to him that he has not already endured today?

"Ah yes, that's right," the man continued on after a moment of silence. "There is a reason you are known as 'Agar the Silent', isn't there?"

_How do you know me? _Agar thought in surprise, confusion washing over his face. The man laughed. It was a deep and dark sound.

"Don't look so confused child, I like to know a little about each and every one of my servants."

Agar's face immediately reverted back to anger. _I'm not your servant!_ He wanted to shout angrily as his eyes flared. The man laughed again.

"Fiery little thing, aren't we?" Agar tried to snarl at him through clenched teeth though no sound came. He'd had a terrible day to say the least and he really hated being patronised. _Especially_ about his size. "Of course you are one of my servants. You and everyone like you are. And you are one of my best. You should be honoured, not angry. In fact, your many successes means I'm willing to help you _and_ your tribe."

Agar stared at him blankly for a moment, not sure what to make of the strange man. He'd never seen anyone with skin or hair that wasn't the same olive and black that everyone shared. Not to mention that he was claiming that Agar was his servant. What was that about? He would help him? Why?

"Stop looking so confused, child," the man said suddenly with a grin. "You know who I am. If you had any sense, you would consider me your closest and most useful friend. _Think._ You and everyone like you are my servants. Every drop of blood you spill is a sermon to me, every time you raise you blade it is _me_ that you worship. Who am I?"

Agar's eyes suddenly widened at the realisation. It couldn't be! It _couldn't_ be! The man's wicked grin widened as he saw the fact dawn on the battered young man and came closer to him, leaning right into Agar's face, staring at him intensely in the eye. The young Iztek shuddered as he felt the mystery man's ice cold breath on his face. Agar was already a man of low self esteem but he had never felt so humbled in his life than he did right now. He'd never felt so small and unimportant as he did at this moment, as he stared directly into the eyes of a god.

_Esvernauh... _


End file.
